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THE REEORMED WOMAN 




5 


OK, 


PASSAGES FROM THE LIFE OF MRS. ANNA COOLEY. 


BRIEF SKETCHES OF HER MISSION, 


AND 



BOSTON: 

PUBLISHED FOR THE AUTHOR. 
1859. 


T 


{* ■ . ’ V 





Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1859, by 
MRS. ANNA COOLEY, 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 


UrnOTTPED BY COWLES AND COMPANY, 
17 WASHINOTON STREET, BOSTON. 


INTEODUCTION. 


“The Reformed Woman To many the 
very thought seems preposterous. Who shall 
gather the fragments of a broken mirror, and 
reconstruct it without flaw or blemish ? Who 
shall restore to beauty and fragrance a crushed 
flower ? Man, made of coarser material may 
fling to the winds all the modesty of a well- 
trained childhood, descend into the depths of 
vice, and yet, by the force of will and divine 
grace, return to virtue, obtain pardon both from 
God and man, and every door of influence and 
society be open before him; but woman when 
she falls. 

Falls like Lucifer, never to rise again ! ** 

Such is the common sentiment of society. 
It is a sentiment rather than a conviction, an 


iv 


INTRODUCTION. 


instinct of the heart, rather than a conclusion 
of the reason. It is idle to argue against 
this dictate of the human heart. Not being 
the product of reason, it cannot be dethroned 
by reason, and it must result from some fact 
in our nature. Women themselves exhibit this 
feeling more than men, and all to some ex- 
tent appreciate it. It is, indeed, partly true. 

Is it not a fact that woman, being of j&ner 
sensibilities and more debcate organization, is 
not so readily drawn into vice as man, but 
when she takes the fearful plunge there is less 
hope for her deliverance? As in the interesting 
case described in this volume, it will often be 
found that ignorance and helplessness render 
her a victim to lust and craft, till, despoiled of 
honor, and her sense of justice outraged, she 
falls like Lucifer from the highest heaven of 
hope into the lowest hell of despair. 

But reform is not impossible to any. Christ 
has long since abolished that delusion, and he 
is no Christian who doubts it. Let the thrill- 
ing story that follows be read and pondered. 


INTRODUCTION. 


V 


and it will be seen how one, who. was once 
simple-hearted and ingenuous, may be drawn into 
the paths of sin, sound the very depths of de- 
pravity, and yet, perhaps, in answer to the prayers 
of a pious mother, by the force of an active con- 
science, and the influence of the Bible, be won 
back again to integrity and purity. 

The woman whose life is here described has 
tasted some of the bitter fruits of that kind 
of life, to which, alas! many thousands are 
victims, which ceases in anguish and pain gen- 
erally within four years after its commence- 
ment. Within the walls of a cell the New 
Testament was made to shine to her with a light 
she had never seen before, and on a blank 
page she inscribed the pledge of her reform 
and trust in Christ, and, after suitable and 
satisfactory examination, she was admitted to 
the communion of a Congregational Church 
in Boston, with which she has been united be- 
tween three and four years. Now she is devoted 
as a missionary to the work of rescuing “lost 

women,” and conducting them back again to 
1 * 


VI 


INTRODUCTION. 


the Father. She puts forth this story of her 
life, not to satisfy a vain curiosity, not to ob- 
tain notoriety for herself, but to show to mothers 
and fathers and sisters and brothers their duty, 
to inspire hope in the fallen, if any such shall 
read it, and, if possible, to obtain additional 
means herself to devote more successfully the 
remnant of her life to her great mission. That 
these wishes may be gratified will be the 
prayer of many Christian hearts that read this 
book, and that it may instruct and benefit the 
reader, is the wish of her whose sad and 
eventful life it attempts to portray. 


F 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER I. 


EARLY SHADOWS. 


Page. 

A Mother’s Trials — The Christian’s Faith — Childhood’s 
Home — Family Misfortunes — The Broken Circle — A 
Brief Beunion — Dangerous Lesson. 15 


CHAPTER. II. 

THE FATAL THRESHOLD. 

Separation — The Strange Household — Idleness Productive 
of Mischief — Learning a Trade — Yorkville — A Moment 
too Late — The Turning-point in my History — The Morn- 
ing Ride. 23 


CHAPTER III. 

A brother’s curse. 

The Hurried Flight — Search for Employment — Agnes 
Milbury 32 


CHAPTER IV. 

MISTAKEN severity. 

The Artful Woman — A Dazzling Picture — The Shroud of 
Death — A Stolen March — The Unexpected Meeting — A 

vii 


CONTENTS. 


viii 


Page. 

Sister’s Merciless Rage — Powerless Threats for the Be- 
trayer — A Prison for the Victim 39 

CHAPTER V. 

STARVATION OR CRIME. 

The Midnight Street— Palace of Luxury — Frantic Choice — 
Demonlike Welcome — The Poor Debtor — Triumph of Evil . . 49 

CHAPTER VI. 

THE FIENDISH GUARDIAN. 

Bitter Wages — A Suprising Visit — The Victim of Remorse 
— A Quiet Retreat — The Phantom at my Bedside — A 
Murderous Assault 55 


CHAPTER VII. 

RESULT OF UNKINDNESS. 

A Night in the Forest — Passage Down the River — Two 
Influences — Distrust and Cruelty — Hints of a Nunnery — 
Maddened Decision — Lizzie Jordan — Arrival in Boston 
— Eudicott Street 65 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A BEAUTIFUL HOPE. 

A Gloomy Presentment — Nelly Mercer — The Suburban Ball 
— Death’s Door — Harry Lincoln — New Resolutions — 
Brother’s Letter — The Rich Merchant and the Poor “ Girl 
of the Town” 75 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE ARTIFICE. 

The Cold Greeting — Mr Duffee — A Painful Situation — 


CONTENTS. 


IX 


Page. 

Interview with a Catholic Priest — The Cottage by the 
River — Gay Visitors — Removal to Rockland County 87 

CHAPTER X. 

THE PLOTTING WOMAN. 

The Beautiful Country-seat — Mrs. Haliday’s Boarder — The 
Hesitating Revelation — A Timely Warning — The Baffled 
Tool — A Discovery — Gleam of Hope — The Joyous 
Illusion 98 


CHAPTER XI. 

A HASTY EVENT. 

My Brother’s Home — Announcement of the Day for Enter- 
ing the Convent — The Formation of a Secret Plan of 
Escape — A Dreadful Tempest — Startling Disclosure — 

The Actress — Ambition Excited — Barnard Cooley — A 
Glimpse into the Lives of Two Sinning Ones 105 

CHAPTER XIL 

THE STEP BACKWARD. 

A Lonely Watch — The Babe in Heaven — Dangerous Guests 

— A Morning Walk — The Voice of Conscience — Parley 

with Temptation — A Perilous Interview. . . 114 

CHAPTER XIII. 

THE DESOLATED HOME. 

Something to Love — The* Frequent Visitor — Fireside Scene 

— The Night Succeeding a Day of Pleasure — An Humble 

Shelter — Honest Mag — The Mocker .' 122 


X 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


THE DEMON DRINK. 


Page, 


Recovery of a Lost Treasure — Efforts to Obtain an Engage- 


ment as a Dancer — A Hard-hearted Woman — Rachel 
Parks — A Recitation of the World’s Creed — The Last 
Golden Chain Broken — Bloating Down the Tide of 
Iniquity 134 


CHAPTES XV. . 

GLORYING IN SHAME. 

Kate Hastings — Visit to a Sister — Agnes Milbury — The 
Curse of Libertinism 142 


CHAPTER XVI. 

HORROR IN THE PATH OP CRIME. 

A Fearful Death-bed — Reconciliation — Illness and Awful 
Forebodings — Resolution to Enter a Convent — The sad 
Parting — Driven by despair to a mad sinful Act — A 
Strange Scene — A Wonderful Rescue — Dream of Peace. . . 150 

CHAPTER XVII. 

THE HAND OP JUSTICE. 

The Stranger — Jealousy — Insane Thirst for Vengeance — 

The Court-room — Deer Island — Death-scene of a Lost 
Woman 16' 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE LAST STAGE. 

An Unwelcome Pardon — Home no Place of Rest — Escape 


CONTENTS. 


XI 


Page. 

from Torturing Keflections — Providence — The Streets of 
New York — An Old Acquaintance — A wealthy refined 
lady threatens to kill her poor fallen sister if she ventures 
near her home — The City Hospital — reparations for the 
Nunnery — An Unaccountable Change in my Destination 
— A Sister's Farewell — Flora Banks — The Old Beldame 
and her Victim — Ann Street 171 

CHAPTER XIX. 

THE COMPANION OF MY CELL. 

The House of Correction — The Temperance Sermon — A 
New Wonderous Teacher — Interview with the Matron on 
the morning of my discharge — The Prison Hood — 
Chaplain’s Blessing — Laugh of the Scorner — God’s 
merciful providence when every door seemed closed against 
me 188 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE POWER OF GRACE. 

The Child’s Influence — Sabbath School — Recovered Lamp 
— A Missionary Visit — The Prayer Meeting — Darkened 
Chamber — Mysterious Brightness — A Newspaper Para- 
graph — Yearning of Soul for a Fallen Sisterhood 205 

CHAPTER XXI. 

WORK IN THE VINEYARD. 

The Poor Neighbor — A Season of Prayer — The echo of my 
Dream — Disarmed by Love — The Way to a Hardened 
Heart — A Cold Professor — An Erring Sister — One 
Hour’s Revealings — The Loving Benediction — An Inspir- 


Xll 


CONTENTS. 


Page. 

ing Vision — The Broken Hearted — The Grave by the 
224 


CHAPTER XXII. 

THE PATH OF PEACE. 

The Curious Stranger — Departure for New York — A 
Sudden Shock — My Trust — The Gloomy Evening Ride 
— Doubt and Misgiving — My Sister's Horae — The 
, Threshold Vision — Parlor Scenes — Brief Stay — Call of 
Duty : 238 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE BLACK SEA MISSION. 

Prayer Meeting in a Magdaline’s — Home — A New Field — 

A Glance at previous labors among Sinning Women — 
Their powerlessness to resist the love of God revealed 
through Christian sympathy — A comparison between the 
objects of my former and present Mission — Scenes in a 
North Street Cellar — Death-bed of a Clergyman’s Daughter 
— Brief account of two young women rescued from the 
vile haunt 254 


. CHAPTER XXIV. 

A PLEA FOR THE FALLEN. 

Object of this Work — Magnitude of Social Wrong — Re- 
sponsibility of Mothers — An Incident illustrative of the 
power of early training — The Little English Girl — The 
Hope of the Outcast — Christ’s Example — Pictures from 
God’s Book of Art 


270 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


CHAPTER I. 

EARLY SHADOWS. 

“Bring her to me — my tender, helpless little 
Anna.” 

Cowering away among the shadows at the foot 
of the bed, with my face buried in heavy folds of 
drapery, I wept with a child’s passionateness ; 
my mother was dying ! 

Day after day, I had watched the fading color 
on cheek and lip ; marked with silent woe the fre- 
quent uplifting of the shadowy eyes ; listened with 
hushed breath to the subdued murmur of her sink- 
ing voice. I was hardly old enough in years or 
experience to recognize these as the precursors of 
death. On this soft, balmy morning, I had been 
awakened from my slumbers by a kind neighbor, 
who took me in her arms and gently whispered, 
“ Anna, you must be very calm ; your dear mother 

15 


16 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


is going to leave you. Come with me to her 
room, and receive her parting blessing.” 

I had slidden in terror from the woman’s lap, 
crossed the threshold of that quiet chamber, and 
fallen upon my knees, unobserved by the spirit 
struggling to escape from its bond of clay. 

When that sweet voice broke forth, so distinct 
and clear, I was lifted from my kneeling posture 
and led from my concealment to my mother’s 
side. My head was tenderly folded to her bosom 
— a silent prayer breathed through lips that for 
the instant had lost the power of articulation. 

Suddenly, and with a force that made me start, 
my form was grasped by the dying hands, and my 
face upturned to the white, shivering countenance. 
A terrible agony was depicted on the brow usually 
so calm and placid ; the eyes, burning into mine, 
were filled with an expression of indescribable an- 
guish. Upward, upward swept the startled gaze 
and became transfixed. “Father — Almighty! 
canst thou not save her ? ” burst with a groan of 
despair from lips over which the deep waves of the 
dark river were already breaking. The friends 
surrounding that solemn death-bed, looked on in 
amazement and distress. The departing Christian 
had clasped her elder children, two sons and two 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


17 


daughters, in her arms, committing them tenderly 
and belie vingly to the God of the widow and the 
fatherless. Why, then, this doubt and misgiving, 
as she sought a blessing for the last precious one ? 
Why the unutterable anguish of the farewell 
look? Did her faith waver in Him who had so 
long been her stay and comfort, or did a tranced 
vision hover about the dying woman, through 
which the future of her child seemed appallingly 
distinct and visible ? Could those uplifted orbs, 
bathed in the approaching glory of the new day, 
pierce the shadows lying along the track of com- 
ing years, and discern the fatal snare woven by 
the arch enemy of souls, forever feasting on the 
blood of the innocent, since the terrific vision of 
Eden’s flaming sword, turning every way, buried 
deep in the bosom of his first victim ? No wonder 
that heavier and fiercer throes of mortal anguish 
rent the gentle heart that could no longer shield the 
loved one, if, like the ghost of Banquo, the promi- 
nent features of my life marched in fearful array 
past those unveiled eyes ; — a weak, childish form, 
hurled by giant hands down an awful declivity, 
the tide of humanity flowing on undisturbed, and 
God’s vengeance slumbering; — a figure flying — 
now hovering over the ashes of a ruined shrine, 
2 * 


18 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


now dashing against a prison’s rusty bars, 
now madly plunging down the last dread steep 
this side of the gulf no Lazarus ever crossed! 
Gradually the fearfully convulsed countenance set- 
tled into a peaceful calm. A look of sublime 
trust lighted up the eyes, again seeking my face. 
A more than mortal beauty overshadowed tlie 
damp brow, and a smile of ineffable joy wreathed 
the lips, through which stole tones sweeter than 
earthly cadence : Lord Jesus receive me into thy 
kingdom ! ” 

These were her last words! The last breath 
came quickly, and another triumphant spirit flitted 
past the gates of light ! 

The burial was a strange, sad scene ; for we 
were strangers, in a strange land, friendless or- 
phans in the wide city of New York. 

There had been a time, away in the Green Isle, 
that had smiled upon our infancy, — when a com- 
fortable, happy home was ours, — when a loving 
father responded cheerfully to each childish want, 
— when the passing beggar paused in his weary 
round, laid his thin hands upon our heads, and 
craved God’s blessing upon the children- of the 
man who never suffered a hungry fellow-creature 
to depart from his door unfed. 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


19 


One of those reverses, so common in this 
world of change, came at length, and from afflu- 
ence our parents were reduced to positive want. 
All the bright hopes cherished by joyous, sanguine 
spirits, sank into gloom and night. Beyond the 
ocean that laved our native strand, gleamed a 
single picture of light and beauty ; fortunes made 
in a day; charming homes that could be had 
almost for the asking ; streets and roadsides lined 
with plenty. Who could hesitate between this 
golden vision, and a few feet of earth sufficient 
for a burial spot — all that remained of the broad 
acres once held in undoubted possession ? With 
the least possible delay, a sale of the household fur- 
niture was effected, with every article that could 
be spared from the family’s abundant wardrobe, 
and a passage secured for the land of promise. 

I alone of the little group was left behind. 
Tenderness of age, delicacy of health, rendered 
this peculiarly painful step necessary. 

I shall never forget how my mother wept over 
me in the hour of parting ! Repeating her prom- 
ise to send for me as soon as it was thought 
practicable, she held me a long time close to her 
bosom, covering my face with kisses, and then 
consigned me to the care of the humble but faith- 


20 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


fill friend that she did not fear to trust. In the 
cheerfulness of my new home, the kindness 
showered upon me, the wild freedom from re- 
straint I enjoyed, the painful scenes of those 
few sorrowful weeks preceding the departure of 
my family to America, soon ceased to weigh upon 
my elastic heart. 

The news of my father’s death in the distant 
land, where, in his failing health and broken ener- 
gies, he found only bitter disappointment and 
crushing apprehensions of extreme poverty, was 
accompanied by a pleading prayer from my 
homesick, sad-hearted mother, for the presence 
of the dear Iktle one she had so reluctantly left 
in her beloved native land. 

Two years had passed since my parents, brothers, 
and sisters embarked at Liverpool for this country, 
when, one fine autumn morning, I stood upon the 
crowded deck of a packet ship, anchored in East 
River, gazing with all a child’s delight upon the 
city of New York. I was immediately conducted 
to the house of a wealthy relative, where my 
mother was waiting to embrace me. My arrival 
deeply affected her. She gazed upon me with 
looks of unutterable love and joy, breaking 
through her falling tears. I cannot refrain from 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


21 


noting here — and I recall it with a sigh of re- 
gret — the impressions made upon my young 
mind during this afternoon visit, by the openly ex- 
pressed admiration of two thoughtless ladies who 
were spending some weeks in this family, to 
whom they were distantly connected. They 
hovered about me constantly, whispering' soft- 
toned praises of my blooming cheeks, fair com- 
plexion, luxuriant hair of glossy richness, and the 
length and shade of my drooping lashes, and dark, 
arching brows. I listened with a new, strange 
consciousness of the dangerous gift in my pos- 
session. 

With earnest words, these vain, heedless women 
obtained my mother^s consent to array my light, 
slender figure in garments suited to the customs 
of the people among whom I had come to live, 
according to their own taste. 

When my toilet was pronounced complete by 
my new-made friends, I was placed before a 
mirror, and I looked with unconcealed delight 
upon the pleasing image reflected there. Alas! 
it was my first lesson in vanity ! 

When I returned to the spacious parlor of our 
kind relative, I thought my mother did not greet 
my improved appearance with as much pleasure 


22 


THE EEFORMED WOMAN. 


as I anticipated ; but she did not chide me, nor 
make any remark calculated to check the buddings 
of a dangerous passion in my susceptible heart. 
Her thoughts, doubtless, were too full of the joy of 
folding her child to her breast — memories of the 
blessed dead reposing from trials she was now called 
upon to meet alone. A few days of glad, happy 
reunion with my brothers and sisters, succeeded 
my anxiously looked-for arrival. Soon, however, 
I was made acquainted with the difficult struggles 
of our mother — quickly learned to look with 
aching heart upon her drooping figure and sunken 
countenance. My brothers had fortunately ob- 
tained situations, since the death of my father, 
and our prospects as a family would have been 
growing brighter, but for the gloomy shadow of 
the relentless destroyer with stealthy steps again 
approaching our humble home. 


CHAPTER 11. 


THE FATAL THRESHOLD. 

Come, Anna, as you have fallen to my lot, I 
might as well take you to your new home, I hate 
to be bothered with a little girl, any how. Pshaw ! 
none of your whimpering ; come along.” It was 
with great difficulty that I suppressed the rising 
sobs and fast-coming tears sufficiently to bid my 
dear sisters an adieu. I remember well with 
what love and reverence I then regarded them. 
My mother had devoted much attention to the 
cultivation of their minds, the training of their 
manners, seeking ever by wise counsels to fortify 
their inexperienced hearts against the wiles of 
Satan and the snares of a giddy world. 

William, my youngest brother, a warm-hearted, 
sanguine fellow, insisted upon taking charge of the 
beautiful, accomplished girls, just blossoming into 
womanhood, leaving me only to the protection of 
John, the elder son. I was hurt and grieved at the 
coming separation. I vainly wondered why I was 

23 


24 


THE REFOEMED WOMAN. 


not permitted to accompany my sisters ; but I felt 
too much like a stranger among my kindred to 
object to any of their arrangements. 

Cold, cheerless, and forbidding seemed the house- 
hold in which I was placed, with an abrupt intro- 
duction, characteristic of my stern, unsympathetic 
brother. No word of kindness or smile of welcome 
greeted me, and the first few days were spent in 
weeping, interrupted only by brief watches at the 
stated hours, when John was accustomed to make 
his appearance, never lingering a moment beyond 
the time requisite for taking his meals. 

Lonely and disheartened, with neither work nor 
books to occupy my mind, I passed the dreary 
days in loitering about the windows, gazing out 
upon the eycr-ehanging pictures of a crowded city 
street. 

One afternoon, while thus idly wasting the 
precious moments of youth, my attention was 
attracted towards some young girls employed in a 
toy manufactory on the opposite side of the way. 
I watched their busy fingers, and cheerful, happy 
faces, and longed to be among them. I was sure 
I could learn to make the beautiful little trifles. I 
was an active child. To desire a thing, with me, 
was but the preliminary to its possession, if it 
chanced to be among the possibilities. 


THE EEPORMED WOMAN. 


25 


That very evening I ran across the street, and 
purchased an article as an excuse for entering the 
shop. One of the young girls addressed me kindly 
and familiarly. We were soon in the full tide of 
conversation. With my natural impulsiveness, I 
told her my wishes. She replied that she was the 
daughter of the manufacturer, and would cheerfully 
speak to her father of the matter, if, as proposed, I 
could gain my brother’s consent. 

I hastened back to my room, found myself just 
in season to intercept John on his way from the 
tea-table. I timidly mentioned my request, pre- 
facing it by the plea of loneliness. To my great 
joy and surprise he muttered an indifferent reply 
in the affirmative. 

My heart became light as a feather, as I con- 
templated the cheerful, busy existence opening 
before me. My sisters had not visited me, nor 
manifested the slightest interest in my welfare, 
since our unhappy parting, and I felt under no 
obligation to consult their wishes in regard to any 
step I chose to take. I was now nearly fourteen 
years of age, and, in my ignorance and inexpe- 
rience, felt fully competent to decide for myself 
in any matter pertaining to my own personal 
interest. 


3 


26 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


In less than a week from this time I entered 
upon my apprenticeship. The bustling scene 
about me suited my fancy; and though I still 
thought of my sisters with affectionate regard, 
their neglect ceased to pain me. I made many 
acquaintances among the gay young persons by 
whom I was constantly surrounded. My brother’s 
coldness and indifference was so chilling to my 
sensitive nature, that I seldom addressed him upon 
any subject, far less ventured to confide to him 
various circumstances, already linking themselves 
about my unprotected life, and imperceptibly 
drawing me on towards the fearful brink of an 
unknown, unseen precipice ! 

One morning, soon after my apprenticeship was 
finished, and I had commenced working for wages, 
I was startled by the announcement of my em- 
ployer of his intention of removing to Yorkville, a 
few miles from the city. His family consisted of 
a wife, three daughters, and one son. The daugh- 
ters appeared strongly attached to me, and were 
very solicitous that I should accompany them. 
The son was to remain in the city, being well 
established in the confectionary business. I con- 
sulted my brother, and as he raised no objection 
to my plan, I made myself ready, and with my 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


27 


employer’s family repaired to Yorkville. It was a 
delightful place, my new friends were kind and 
agreeable, and I determined, if I could give satis- 
faction, to remain with them during the winter. 
The visits of the son, whom I regarded as a quiet, 
exemplary young man, were frequent. I became 
attached to him, as to the other members of the 
pleasant family. His attentions to me were kind 
and brotherly — nothing more. 

Early in the spring I had occasion to go into 
the city to make several little purchases. The 
hours of the short afternoon flew past with exceed- 
ing swiftness ; and, when I was ready to return, I 
found, to my surprise and consternation, that the 
Yorkville coach had just left. I cannot paint the 
childish terror I felt, as the gloominess of my sit- 
uation gathered around my sinking heart. My 
brother had removed from his former lodgings, and 
I did not know his present address, and my sisters 
were in the country with William. In the confu- 
sion of the moment I could not think of a single 
individual whom I knew well enough to seek in 
my present dilemma. 

A crowd came rushing past me. I shrank into a 
corner veiled in the shadows by the deepening twi- 
light. A strange, indescribable chill ran through my 


28 


TFIE REFORMED WOMAN. 


frame. The memory of a superstition whispered 
at gloomy firesides in my native land, hushed the 
quick bounds of my startled heart. It was not my 
grave, that my trembling footsteps pressed ; it was 
a spot a thousand times more momentous and 
thrilling — the turning point in my existence; — a 
child, defrauded by cruel circumstances of a moth- 
er’s training at a period when the cast of character 
is usually given ; orphaned when needing most 
her watchful guidance ; left by a fatal thread in 
the woof of destiny, at the tender age of fourteen, 
alone, at night, in the streets of New York. 

Think of it, ye who shudder over the pages of 
my life’s black history, and let it teach you com- 
passion ; not for me, — One mightier than earthly 
friend has at last risen in my defence, — but for 
the thousands of artless, unsuspecting girls falling 
annually from your midst, sinking low out of your 
sight, far away beyond your mercy. 

A half hour passed by. I counted each min- 
ute with increasing apprehension, gazing across 
the way upon the high, massive clock, behind which 
burned a dark, lurid flame. Every thing seemed 
to wear a strange, confused aspect. I stood still, 
shivering as if unseen hands were chaining my 
feet to the spot, enthralling every energy of my 
will in meshes of steel. 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


29 


A man appeared bearing a ladder, and the next 
instant my hiding place was brilliant with the 
rays of the street lamp. I crept cautiously forth 
and walked hesitatingly along the sidewalk. The 
thought of my employer’s son suddenly flashed 
into my mind. I hailed it with joy, and quick- 
ened my pace in the direction of his shop, smiling 
at the prospective termination of my perplexities, 
and wondering that this source of aid had not 
occurred to me sooner. 

The young man was standing at his door, and 
glanced upon me with a look of pleased surprise. 
I hastened to explain my mistake and consequent 
loss of a seat in the coach. A smile lighted up his 
handsome face, as he pronounced the words of 
kindly welcome. He entreated me to dismiss all 
fears of uneasiness, and make up my mind to 
remain until morning, when he would procure me 
an early passage home. 

“ Run into the back shop, Anna, and make your- 
self happy. I will come in as soon as the cus- 
tomers retire.” 

The cheerful words were spoken in a low tone, 
and I obeyed without hesitation. I entered the 
pretty suite of rooms, which had been fitted up on 
his parents’ removal from town, expressly for his 
3 * 


30 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


own convenience. I passed that fatal threshold 
an innocent unsuspecting girl. I recrossed it, 
when the morning sunlight flooded the earth with 
a brightness and beauty that mocked the anguish 
and desolation of my soul — a ruined woman ! 

The guilty betrayer was conscience-stricken. I 
read it in the pitiful looks fastened on the face I 
strove to hide from the light of heaven — from the 
sight of God’s creatures. I felt it from the 
trembling of the hand that assisted-'me into the 
coach. I knew it from the quaking of the voice 
that bid me farewell. “ Farewell ! ” — how like 
fiendish mockery did its syllables fall on my tor- 
tured soul. 

“ You have destroyed me, and I hate you.” I 
whispered it in his ear with a wildness that made 
him shrink from my side and retreat hastily into 
his shop. 

I crept into the farthest corner of the coach, 
drew my veil over my face, and shed such tears as 
never before visited my eyelids. Oh ! the shame 
and despair of that homeward ride ! The turning 
point in my history yesterday, a thing of moment- 
ary dread, was now changed to a dark, a horrible 
certainty that I had stumbled past it, and been 
precipitated far down the fatal path — the path of 
crime ! 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


31 


The white walls of my employer’s residence 
gleamed coldly and strangely upon me. Years of 
thought and wretchedness seemed to lie between 
me and the pleasant afternoon when I passed out 
from its roof, with “ brow so fresh and heart so 
glad.” I comprehended it fully — the dividing 
line, drawn by a villain’s hand, separating me from 
every thing good and pure. There was no hope 
of pity, pardon, or redress. I must bear it through 
all the dark future, in silence and shame. 


CHAPTER HI. 


A brother’s curse 

It was a long, gloomy night. I had been watch- 
ing many hours for the first glimmering of dawn. 
By the kindling of day, I was resolved to be in 
the city, beyond the reach of the shame and re- 
proach that must meet me in the home of my 
employer, when the terrible tale of my faU should 
be whispered there. Young as I was, I had 
become sufficiently impressed with prevailing 
opinions to know that the fact of their son and 
brother having been the villainous author of my 
ruin, would be no shield against their wr^th. 
Already, the black sin which I thought known 
only to God and my betrayer had been revealed 
to my stern, unpitying brother, and his curses 
were sinking deep in my soul. 

I covered my face, burning in the darkness, 
as my thoughts went out and clung around my 
pure, lovely sisters. How they must scorn and de- 
spise me ! And my kind, affectionate William — 

82 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


33 


never more would he smile upon me or kiss my 
cheek, as of old, when our mother sat quietly by. 
At thoughts of her^ I writhed in agony. I sprang 
from my seat, and rushed frantically to the win- 
dow. A brightening line quivering along the gray 
horizon caught my eye. I snatched a bundle 
lying at my feet, and crept stealthily down the 
stairs, out into the cold, damp morning. The 
creeking of the gate, as I endeavored to unclose it 
softly, startled me, and darting through the opening 
without daring to look behind, I flew along the 
highway. I - did not slacken my pace until com- 
pelled, by want of breath and utter exhaustion, to 
sink upon a stone by the roadside. 

The church spires and slated roofs of the loftiest 
buildings were glittering in the rising sun, when 
my weary footsteps gained the city’s paved 
streets. Where am I to seek refuge ? Who will 
be my friend? were the agonized questionings of 
my soul, as with shrinking eyes I encountered the 
curious gaze of strangers, rapidly filling up the 
night-deserted thoroughfares. 

I thought of the distant relative of our family, 
at whose house I had been received so tenderly by 
my mother. I turned from the momentary con- 
templation with a shudder. “ No ! no ! ” I cried 


34 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


aloud ; “ my lips shall never herald to their ears her 
child’s disgrace.” Another image thrust itself 
unbidden before my hesitating mind. It was the 
cruel betrayer of childish innocence. I drew back 
with bitter loathing and glanced out upon the 
broad expanse of waters flashing in the sunlight 
glow, with unutterable heart-yearning — “ Oh! give 
me a grave in your depths; the chilling waves 
would be more merciful than that, bad man.” I 
looked around me, fearing my impassioned words 
had been understood. None but an old apple- 
woman with a heavy laden basket was near. 

I strove to recall the names and residences of 
some of the gay young persons whom I often met 
while in the city manufactory. I soon abandoned 
this idea in despair. I had heard an intelligence 
office spoken of by sortie girls with whom I 
chanced to become acquainted. I determined to 
seek it at once, and obtain a situation as chamber 
or nursery maid. I ventured to solicit a direction 
of a gentleman just then passing. He pointed 
in silence to a sign across the way. I ascended 
the stairs and presented myself at the desk, behind 
which sat the proprietor. I asked, with a confused, 
hurried voice, if he had any situations for cham- 
ber-maids. A stare of surprise was fixed upon 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


35 


me, as he inquired if I was acquainted with the 
practical part of the business. I hesitated to 
tell an untruth, and replied that I was not much 
used to any kind of housework, but was willing 
to be taught, and trusted I could give satisfaction. 
A card was handed me. I glanced at the direction 
with a thankful heart — “300 Broadway.” Five 
minutes later I stood before the door. A domestic 
made her appearance, and when I told her my 
errand she conducted me into the presence of her 
mistress. 

The lady asked me a great many questions 
relative to my parents’ past history, and my late 
employment. Her concluding words shivered the 
hopes raised high in my young breast. “ Well, 
miss, you look rather delicate, but I have no objec- 
tions to giving you a trial, provided you can refer 
me to some responsible person who will give you 
a good character.” 

I retreated from the room with a crimson face. 
I felt that those keen, cold eyes had read my guilt. 

I sought another office. It was crowded with 
applicants. I spent the day in anxious, fruitless 
waiting. 

A young girl who sat beside me appeared inter- 
ested in my hopes of success. She, too, was an 


36 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


orphan, and dependent upon her own efforts for a 
livelihood. When she arose to leave for the night, 
in very desperation I grasped her arm with a 
nervous clutch, and whispered, — 

“ Can you direct me to a boarding-place ? ” 

Her face beamed with real sympathy as she 
replied, — 

“ Come home with me, for one night — no more. 
I think I’ll manage to make room for you in 
my chamber.” 

I clung to her arm as she led me through several 
strange streets until we came to a large house. 
She let herself in by means of a night-key, and 
motioned me to follow her silently up the stairs. 
She brought me some refreshment, but did not ask 
me to the table below. I thought it strange, but 
was too sad and heavy-hearted to feel much curi- 
osity. After we retired for the night, she threw 
her arms about my neck and burst into tears, 
exclaiming, — 

“ I know you will despise me as much as you 
now seem to like me ; but I am going to tell you 
something. My heart is breaking for somebody to 
pity me. I don’t know what makes me feel to trust 
a stranger so fully. Oh, dear me; I am a wretched, 
undone girl ! ” I drew her face closer to mine, in 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


37 


silent sympathy, and while my very heart grew 
still with a terrible apprehension, I whispered, — 

“ I am sorry for your trouble, whatever it may 
be. The right to despise a living mortal, however 
sinful and miserable, is no longer mine.’^ 

Slumber did not visit our eyelids till the hour 
of dawn. We spent its silent watches in the 
mutual narration of histories, the latest scenes of 
which drew from our lips the bitterest expressions 
of hatred and shame — from our eyes, the saddest 
tears that ever stained a woman’s cheek I 

Agnes Milbury had been left to the charities of 
strangers, in her earliest childhood. Adopted at 
the age of twelve into the family of a gentleman 
maintaining a respectable standing in society, she 
had enjoyed the privileges of excellent schools and 
refined companionship. The rnistress of the house 
where she found a home was a woman of great 
rigidness of purpose, and exactness of deportment. 
Though uniformly kind to the orphan girl, she 
made no endeavor to win her love and confidence. 
On the other hand, the husband was extremely 
indulgent, always manifesting towards her the 
tenderest affection. The absence of his wife, and 
a favorable opportunity, revealed the fiendish na- 
ture of his regard. On the woman’s return, the 
4 


38 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


confiding victim of a foster-father’s villainy, was 
thrust into the streets, branded with a mark more 
loathsome and ineffaceable than that burned by the 
wrath of God into the brow of the first murderer ! 


CHAPTER IV. 


MISTAKEN SEVERITY. 

“ Good-morning, Agnes. I declare I think you 
deserve a scolding for keeping this beautiful young 
lady hid away up here in the sky-parlor. Come 
down, both of you ; the breakfast is waiting.’^ 

This cordial greeting and earnest invitation pro- 
ceeded from the lips of a full-faced, smiling matron, 
whose massive figure was suddenly framed in the 
attic door. 

“ My landlady, Anna,” was the hurried response 
of the young girl, and a look of intense pain drifted 
across her pale, interesting face. 

“ I do not wish any breakfast ; do you, Anna ? ” 
and Agnes bent on me a glance full of warning 
expression. 

I shook my head, and a ready negative came to 
my lips. I moved towards the mirror to adjust 
some part of my clothing. A suppressed whisper 
met my ear. The agitated voice of Agnes re- 
sponded in a tone of yielding hopelessness. 

39 


40 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


“ Weil, I can’t help it. God have mercy upon 
me I ” 

Seizing my hand, she addressed me in words 
that her sad, appealing countenance strangely con- 
tradicted. 

“ Come, Anna, we will go down. Mrs. De 
Berry will be a friend to you.” We followed the 
landlady’s slow footsteps down the long flights 
of stairs into a large, pleasant dining room. 
There were but two covers upon the table. We 
were abundantly helped to a variety of nice dishes; 
but I noticed that Agnes ate as if she loathed 
each dainty morsel, and the rich, hot coffee seemed 
almost to strangle her. 

When, at length, we were permitted by our at- 
tentive hostes to retire from the breakfast table, 1 
was closely followed. At the landing of the second 
flight, Mrs. De Berry took me affectionately by the 
arm, and led me into an elegant chamber, while 
Agnes, with her sad, heavy eyes, was suffered to 
pursue her clambering, upward course alone. 

I was completely dazzled by the magnificence 
that met my eyes on every side — bewildered by 
the flattering praises that rang in my ears. 

Two days passed away like a dream, in which I 
did not once see Agnes. In reply to an inquiry, 
I was informed that she had gone to a place. 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


41 


Mrs. De Berry continued lavish in her pro- 
fessions of friendship, acts of kindness, and com- 
plimentary phrases. I could assign no reason 
satisfactory to myself, and yet I was uneasy, 
troubled, and discontented. A presentiment of 
coming ill stole gradually into my mind. 

I knew by the numerous footfalls upon the 
^ stairs, the nightly tread of many feet to the merry 
notes of music, that there must be a large num- 
ber of boarders, or the house was crowded with 
company, and yet I saw no one save Mrs. De 
Berry and a young gentleman who occasionally 
sauntered into the lady’s splendid apartment, and 
whiled away an idle hour in chatting about the 
opera, or touching the strings of a guitar. 

One evening, I happened to be left alone for 
several hours. I fell asleep, in the soft, luxuri- 
ous chair, and struggled through the mazes of a 
frightful dream. I was wandering in a strange 
country, toiling with worn feet through masses 
of briers, and over steep, rocky ledges. Forever 
dancing before my vision, gleamed the entrance 
door of a gorgeous palace. Oft as my footsteps 
neared the threshold, it receded, half losing ' itself 
in' a wreath of mist, and then becoming fixed, 
brilliant, and seemingly accessible as before. After 
4 * 


42 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


innumerable and desperate struggles, I fell breath- 
less beside the white columns that supported the 
shining cloudlike roof. Through the interior 
arches of the beautiful fabric, I discerned fairy- 
forms floating to the gay measure of distant 
music, and ever as the dance went on they wove 
a web of sparkling tissue. Suddenly they turned 
and advanced towards me with the transparent 
texture falling over their rosy fingers. It was for 
me ! I stretched forth my hands to grasp it. A 
cold touch upon my shoulder caused me to glance 
upward. The face of my mother was bending 
over me with the same agonized look that con- 
vulsed her lovely features in the hour of her last 
conflict. A whisper, soft as the breath of infancy, 
fearful as Heaven’s thunderbolt, smote my hushed 
heart. 

“ It is the shroud of death ! Fly for your life ! ” 

I awoke with a shriek of terror. The breadths 
of an elegant silk Mrs. De Berry had brought in 
during the preceeding afternoon and presented to 
me, spread out upon the snowy counterpane, was 
the first object that met my fright-expanded eyes, 
“ Merciful Heavens ! ” I groaned in dismay ; the 
very figures and colors of the shroud of my 
dream I ” 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


43 


Seizing a shawl lying upon the cushions of a 
lounge, I wrapped it about me, and stole out into 
the brilliantly lighted landing. The strains of 
enchanting music floated up the broad stairway. 
My feet scarcely pressed the glowing colors of 
the costly Brussels as I flew downward, filled with 
an eagerness as desperate and intense to gain the 
street door, as impelled my footsteps toward the 
glittering threshold of the palace of my dream. 
My trembling hand was upon the night-latch. 
The rustle of silks sounded along the spacious 
hall. An angry voice pronounced my name. 
Flinging the door open with startling force, I 
bounded from the steps, and mingled with the 
crowd rushing past. 

On, on with flying tread, urged by no purpose, 
impelled by no desire but the hope of escape from 
the shroud of death, hanging in the house that I 
but this moment suspected to be a house of 
crime. 

The Washington Parade Grounds lay spread 
out before me, I entered and threw myself upon 
the nearest seat. Tears of shame and wretched- 
ness fell fast through the fingers with which I 
strove to veil my face, lest I should be recognized 


44 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


by some one who had known me in the days of 
my purity and happiness. 

“ O sainted mother I ” — in despair of human aid, 
my soul looked above — “ who didst appear in my 
dream to warn me of peril, if thou couldst once 
more wear a mortal shape, I might not seek a 
friend in vain. I know thou wouldst forgive 
thine erring, repentant child, and take her again to 
thy merciful heart!” I grew calmer and more 
hopeful. I began almost to think and believe that 
my sisters — the children of that angel mother — 
would pity me too. I sprang upon my feet with 
the determination to seek them, confess all, and 
implore them to let me remain under their protec- 
tion. During the long walk I was obliged to take 
to reach the house of a friend of our family, from 
whom I hoped to gain the information necessary 
to guide me to the feet of my kindred, my young 
heart was filling up with penitence for my wrong- 
doing, and virtuous resolves for the future. On 
turning a corner, brilliant with the rays of a street 
lamp, a face glanced down upon my rapidly speed- 
ing form, that made me shrink closer to the brick 
wall, and cry to God for protection ! It was the 
brow, eyes, and mouth of my employer’s son, but 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


45 


the mild attraction of the countenance, the quiet, 
good-humored smile, was gone. He addressed 
me. I hurried past with a look of bitterest scorn. 
I felt in my soul, then, that I hated the man as 
much as I once admired him. He gained my 
side, and held fast a fragment of the shawl that 
protected me from the drizzly rain. With solemn, 
earnest language, he implored me to tell him if 
indeed it was true, that I had been boarding in a 
house of ill-fame on Doane Street. I replied in 
the affirmative, without taking the trouble to re- 
late the extenuating circumstances. 

“ Anna,” he said, “ I am exceedingly pained 
about the past. I have not seen an hour of peace 
since that fatal night. If you will go home with 
me, I will get you a respectable boarding-place, 
and take care of you.” 

“ Never ! ” I cried with flashing eyes. “ May 
you find no rest, night or day, until you die ! And 
then may God be merciful to you as you were to 
me ! ” 

The wretch cowered beneath my glance, as I 
tore from his shaking hands the corner of my 
shawl, and fled along the street. 

With my holy purpose almost expiring in my 
breast, I rang the door-bell of our family friend. 


46 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


It was answered by the lady of the house. A 
severe frown gathered on her brow, and she drew 
back as if to give my vile person a wide sweep, 
as she motioned me to enter the back parlor door, 
which was standing open. It was a fierce strug- 
gle between pride and a true sense of duty for me 
to obey the silent signal, but I forced myself to 
pass her. Pausing in the passage, I asked her if 
she could furnish me with the address of either of 
my sisters. 

Another motion more imperative than the first, 
and a darker frown, sent me precipitately across 
the threshold of the open door. 

I shiver now with the remembered anguish of 
that moment. My two brothers and two sisters 
the elder buried in the cushions of a sofa, in 
convulsive pangs of suffering, produced by the 
intelligence of my sinful fall and consequent dis- 
appearance, met my terror-gleaming eyes. The 
silent reproach painted on those pale, sad faces, 
stung me to the heart ; and, falling on my knees 
beside my prostrate sister, I entreated her forgive- 
ness in humblest tones. 

“ O Anna, Anna ! she cried, drawing herself 
away from my clasping arm, “ you are surely mad. 
Don’t you know that you are ruined forever and 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


4i 

ever? Can’t you feel the disgrace heaped upon 
a name never before tarnished by a daughter’s 
want of virtue ! Wretched girl ! neither your tears 
nor mine can wash the burning, blackening stain 
away. Don’t touch me, you polluted thing ! your 
sin has broken my heart. I have survived loss 
of fortune, death of father, mother, and a beloved 
brother. A spotless fame was still mine and 
yours. O brother, take the guilty child from my 
presence ; I cannot bear the sight of her shame- 
crimsoned face ! ” 

Again the countenance, bathed in tears, blazing 
with fiercest scorn and anger, was pillowed upon 
the cushions, and the sufferer grew so still and 
pale and cold that my youngest sister, standing by, 
wringing her hands and weeping, threw her arms 
about her, chafed her hands, kissed her brow, 
and strove by every endeavor to restore the droop- 
ing, exhausted spirit. With vengeful looks, my 
brothers bade me follow them into another room. 
When they had closed the door and bolted it, they 
confronted me with eyes of flame and faces pale 
with anger, demanding, in hoarse tones, the name 
and residence of the wretch who wrought my 
destruction. I was very much astonished, for I 
had inferred from John’s denunciatory letter, that 


48 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


he was acquainted with the whole train of circum- 
stances that led me to my present unhappy doom. 
A half-hour earlier, my own words had consigned 
my betrayer to a life of unceasing torture — an 
eternity void of God’s mercy. Now, when I felt 
certain, from the terrible thirst for vengeance 
gleaming forth from the bloodshot eye and quiv- 
ering ashen lips before me, that his earthly exist- 
ence only was in peril, I found the mercy and 
courage to remain silent, — fearful, trembling, weak 
girl though I was, — in my heart solemnly vowing 
that my lips should never seal a fellow-mortal’s 
death-warrant, and that the crime of murder should 
not yet be added to the sin already blackening our 
family name. 

At length my torturers left me, taking care to 
lock the door behind them. “ You are a prisoner. 
Miss Anna, until you choose to divulge the name 
of your paramour,” was borne back to my ears 
with the sound of their retreating footsteps. 


CHAPTER V. 


STARVATION OR CRIME. 

Again in the midnight streets, shelterless and 
lone ! Two days had passed since I tasted food. 
I had not slept, save for one brief hour, reclining 
upon the steps of a church. Every moment of the 
blessed sunshine had been spent in seeking a sit- 
uation where I might be permitted to eat the bread 
of honest toil. I was met by impertinent queries, 
distrustful looks, and scornful words. All seemed 
to regard me with chilling suspicion, as if on my 
face was written out the tale of guilt that had 
driven me to desperation. During the long, weary 
nights, I was hurrying to and fro, striving to evade 
the prying glances of each passing loiterer, or fly- 
ing from the measured tread of the city watch- 
men, hiding my shrinking form in friendly nooks 
and lengthened shadows. 

I stole around cautiously, pausing at each sound 
that echoed through the silent streets, until I stood 
in front of the house of death from which I had 
5 49 


50 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


fled five nights before, in such terror and dismay. 
The curtains were closely drawn — the blinds 
shut ; but I could discern the glimmer of lights — 
distinguish the notes of music and the merry tread 
of dancers on the springing floor. 

Memory painted the table groaning beneath its 
weight of luxuries; my appetite plead with re- 
newed fierceness each coming second. The bed 
of down, on which I had reposed so softly, came 
vividly before my reeling gaze. My limbs grew 
weak and powerless — my brain misty. “ I will 
sleep,” I exclaimed, as I endeavored to stretch my- 
self upon the imaginary couch, — O God! — the hard 
chilling pavement and the dark, frowning sky ! 

I lay there, moaning with pain and bitter disap- 
pointment. A nearing footstep struck upon my 
ear — passed close to the wet, dripping stones. I 
crept into the alley. The solitary pedestrian 
passed on. 

“ God pity me, and punish them ! ” I murmured, 
in sharpest pain and agony, as I dragged my shiv- 
ering, exhausted frame up those dreadful steps. I 
pulled the bell with a force that sent an hundred 
echoes through the spacious building. 

Still, still as the grave, — for which dwellings 
like these are truly named, — became the sounds of 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


51 


mirth, the voices of unhallowed revelry. A window 
was gently opened, and a pair of eyes, all watchful- 
ness, all scrutiny, peered down through the misty 
gloom upon me. I fancied I heard a low, long, 
exultant laugh, as the blinds swung together, 
the sash touched the sill, and heavy footsteps 
pressed the stairway. One fearful moment more, 
and I stood face to face with the deceitful old 
beldame who had marked me for her prey. 

My pale, wild countenance, tangled hair, and 
mud-spotted garments, brought to her lips a smile, 
like that with which a fiend might be supposed to 
welcome a lost soul to the regions of eternal des- 
pair. So horrible was its gleam that I shrunk with 
involuntary dread from her outstretched hand. 
She threw her great, strong arms about me, and 
lifted me across the threshold of the fatal door. 

“ Poor child ! I knew you would come back to 
me. Those who gain a stolen march upon us 
seldom find a very cordial greeting beyond these 
merry walls. I am glad to welcome you home I ” 

The emphasis placed upon the last word curdled 
my blood. I struggled with a terrible faintness, 
and fell lifeless to the floor. 

When I awoke to consciousness I was lying 
upon the downy couch, in the same beautiful 


52 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


chamber that mocked my frightful dream. A face 
was bending over my pillow ; a sense of dreamy 
comfort held me enthralled ; I did not even strive 
to recall the familiar features of my attendant. A 
refreshing cordial was held to my lips, a soft hand 
arranged the pillow, and I sank away into forget- 
fulness. 

Towards evening I opened my eyes with a 
clearer perception of my situation. 

I started in surprise at the sight of Agnes Mil- 
bury sitting by my bedside. Her pale face was 
mantled with the unchanging expression of deep, 
hopeless misery. 

“ Agnes ! 

“ Anna ! ” 

She brightened up an instant while answering 
my confused questions. Turning upon me a look 
of thrilling reproach she said, — 

“ O Anna ! tell me, in God’s name, why you re- 
turned to this wretched — wretched place.” 

Her glance stung me almost to madness. “ Be- 
cause it was my only hope of escape from death 
by starvation. I was too cruelly treated by my 
relatives for mortal endurance. I fled secretly 
from the house they converted into a prison to 
torture and punish me. I have travelled the city 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


53 


through, asking, imploring, and begging for work. 
They wont give it me, and my ruin be upon their 
heads and the flinty hearts of my unmerciful 
kindred I ’’ 

Agnes’s tears fell on my hand as she rejoined, 
without lifting her bowed head : — 

“ Yes, yes. I know it. It was your only chance 
for food and shelter. I would not, do not blame 
you ; but I was thinking that it was I that brought 
you here. I did not mean that old hag should set 
her eyes on you. I might have known I could 
not have evaded her pursuit. Ever since the 
morning she discovered you, I have been shut 
up, — at first, lest I should reveal the secret of 
this guilt-stained house, — afterwards, from sus- 
picion that I had frightened you away. As for 
me, O Anna ! I am chained and helpless. I owe 
this woman for my board. I hoped to get a place. 
I can’t do it. I have at last consented to sell my 
soul to pay the bill. Oh, that the pitiful God 
would stop my breath! I’d thank him forever- 
more ! ” 

The entrance of Mrs. De Berry interruped our 
painful interview. When her searching eyes took 
in the pictures of agony painted on our faces, she 
5 ^- 


54 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


ordered Agnes from the room, and, seating her- 
self beside me, exerted her bewildering influence 
to the utmost to obliterate the unhappy impres- 
sion made by the poor girl’s startling disclosure. 

From this time, I forced back my tears, dressed 
my face in smiles, shut my heart to the contempla- 
tion of a mother in heaven, and the reproaches of 
an outraged conscience. It was long ere the evil 
forces to which I yielded took complete possession 
of my mind. In the hours of mirth and festivity, 
I could forget the torturing memories of the past, 
and revel in the guilty present ; but in the silent 
pauses of my sinful career, I trembled and shud- 
dered at the loud, fearful voice of reproof sounding 
along the avenues of my soul. 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE FIENDISH GUARDIAN. 

It was a sweet summer morning. Its soft breath 
and beautiful sunshine mocked my heart of woe. 
I gazed around upon the splendor of my apart- 
ment — the rich dresses that crowded my ward- 
robe — the glittering ornaments that flashed in 
their cases on my toilet-table, and clasped my 
hands over my aching brow, exclaiming, — “ For 
these I have sold every thing pure and precious in 
life — with these I have purchased an eternity of 
wretchedness!” The shuddering reflection almost 
maddened me. I sprang from the pile of crimson 
cushions that supported my reclining form, and 
pressing my fingers upon my ears, strove to crush 
out the whispering horror. I rushed back and 
forth, across that yielding carpet of gorgeous colors, 
in the wild, vain endeavor of escaping from my- 
self. I paused and gazed once more. My 
agitated voice was raised almost to a shriek, as 
I cried, — • 


56 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


“ They are mine ; I’ve bought them at a fearful 
price. I’ll wear them and enjoy them if I can ! 
Who forbids me ? ” 

With shaking hands, I combed out my glossy 
hair, and wreathed it in shining braids about my 
head. I seized my costliest garments, and piled 
them upon my person, until my heart writhed again 
in its torturing agony. I hung jewels in my ears ; 
crowded ring after ring upon my slender fingers ; 
fastened a gem of dazzling purity amid the dark, 
massive braids above my brow. I stood transfixed 
before the mirror,^ gazing in affright upon the face 
that had already put on a startling paleness, the 
eyes ffashing with an unnatural, unholy light. The 
sudden echo of the door bell broke in upon my 
bitter meditations. The sound of a stern voice 
awakened a strange, chilling sensation in my 
breast. I flew to my chamber door. “ It is he ! 
Oh, where shall I hide myself?” I whispered in 
shivering terror, as the well-known accents of my 
brother John were borne up the stairway. There 
was a fierce conflict of angry voices, in which I 
heard my brother say, “ Deny it as much as you 
will, I know she is here. I saw her face at the 
front window not five minutes since. Lead 
to her or I’ll set the police on your track ! ” 


me 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


57 


In my alarm I had fled up, flight after flight, 
until I crouched beneath the slanting roof of the 
little attic, where I spent my first night with poor 
Agnes Milbury in this horrible dwelling. 

My name was repeated, again and again, in the 
terrified tones of Mrs. De Berry, and in the frantic 
accents of my brother. I strove with all my 
strength to lift the scuttle. I do not know but 
in my dread at meeting my relatives, who had 
treated me so harshly, I should have precipitated 
myself into the street below, if I could have 
gained the roof. The door resisted my efibrts. I 
was dragged from my hiding-place by Mrs. De 
Berry, who, in her alarm for the security of her 
gilded halls of blackest sin, resolved to deliver me 
up to my determined brother. 

When I gained the lower flight of stairs, and 
John caught a glimpse of my silken garments, 
and the jewels that decked my person, he uttered 
a groan of anguish, and, leaning against the wall, 
he bowed his head upon his breast. I could hear 
the suppressed sobs, and see the tears wrung from 
a manly eye by a sister’s dishonor. 

Mine was not the only heart that quaked and 
trembled in view of the painful scene. Several 
women had rushed from their rooms, on hearing 


58 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


my name pronounced in tones so thrilling, and 
now stood in the hall, with their faces buried in 
their hands, and breasts heaving with powerful 
emotions. One, a tall superb-looking creature, 
who had forsaken a husband and three lovely 
children for this haunt of vice, exclaimed, with 
bitterest emphasis — “ These are the first tears 
that have moistened my eyes since my terrible fall 
from virtue and happiness, down, down to wretch- 
edness and woe ! Two years ! O Heaven, how 
much of agony has been crowded into this brief 
space ! And yet I live to curse and be cursed.’’ 
She lifted her face, and through the melting drops 
fixed on me a long, mournful glance, and retreated 
to her chamber. A sudden spring of the bolt, 
an agonizing cry, were swept back to my waiting 
ear. I never saw the conscience-stricken one 
again. Years afterward, I learned that she rent 
the brittle cord of existence by her own hands, 
impelled doubtless by the torturing pangs of re- 
morse. 

I took a hasty leave of my companions in guilt, 
and was soon walking along the streets, by the 
side of my brother, arrayed in the neat, modest 
attire which I wore in the sweet, unforgotten days 
of my innocence. 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


59 


John’s voice seemed to have grown strangely 
harsh since last he spoke, when he suddenly broke 
forth, — 

“ What on earth can I do with you, child ? 
You have nearly broken the hearts of both your 
sisters by your guilt ; it would quite crush them to 
have you constantly before their eyes. Anna, 
how would you like to go to school in the 
country ? ” 

“ Very much, my brother ; do send me ; I will 
certainly be a good girl ! ” 

“ A good girl ! O Anna ! it’s a dreadful thing 
for me to realize that you are lost to me and your 
dear sisters forever ; but it is a fact I must not 
suffer you in your ignorance and inexperience 
to overlook. You can never again be a good girl. 
O Anna, I wish you had died before you were 
permitted to thus disgrace us at all ! ” 

1 wept in silence. I felt that I was indeed lost ; 
but the Almighty One, who could look into my 
poor, sad heart, that moment, knew I loathed the 
sin that dragged me out beyond a brother’s or 
sister’s mercy. Oh, could the hand of Christian 
kindness, which I daily behold extended to the 
lowest outcast of my sex, have reached me then, 
how many of my life’s sins had been uncommitted I 


60 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


I was conducted to a hotel, where a middle- 
aged gentleman by the name of Rodney was 
awaiting us. I now perceived that my destination 
had been fixed, before my brother came to rescue 
me from this fearful house. After an introduction 
and a brief conversation, Mr. Rodney proposed 
that we should start immediately for the steam- 
boat, lest we failed of securing a passage. John 
accompanied us on ooard, gave me some pocket 
money, and bidding me attend perseveringly to 
my studies, and give my kind guardian the least 
possible degree of trouble, left me to proceed on 
my unknown journey, attended by a man who 
was almost an entire stranger to my relatives, as 
well as myself. We went up the river until we 
reached Ulster County. We then landed, and Mr. 
Rodney led me to the house of a Catholic priest, 
to whom John had written a letter of introduction. 
We were received kindly by the reverend father, 
who readily promised, according to my brother’s 
expressed wish, to take me under his spiritual 
protection. An old lady kept his house. While 
preparing refreshment for us, she manifested ccfn- 
siderable interest and curiosity in my concealed 
history. After partaking of our host’s hospitality, 
we took seats in a public coach, and were driven 


‘THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


61 


some ten miles, over a rocky, hilly road, into a 
retired little hamlet, hidden away beyond the 
shadows of a deep, dark forest. It seemed quite 
pleasant as we emerged from the wood, and came 
suddenly upon a fine, smooth, level road, with 
cattle feeding on either side, lambs frisking over 
green hills, and a few neat cottage houses, clus- 
tering together upon a beautiful upland slope, 
descending to a little picturesque lake. The 
family of Mr. Rodney consisted of a single daugh- 
ter, something beyond my own age. Bertha and 
I became intimate acquaintances, in the course 
of a few days. The town school, which I was 
to attend, had not yet opened for the season, and 
I spent my time in assisting Bertha about her 
housework, romping over the pleasant fields, and 
not unfrequently I passed an afternoon at the 
house of the nearest neighbor, a married daughter 
of my guardian. 

One week from the day of my arrival at my 
new home, I was awakened from my morning 
slumbers by a coarse, gruff voice. Upon opening 
my eyes and gazing wildly about me I cowered 
beneath the drapery of the bed in the greatest 
consternation. Mr. Rodney stood before me ! 
The counterpane was wrenched from my grasp, 
6 


d2 the reformed woman. 

and I was compelled to listen to proposals of the 
blackest, basest character. I shrieked in terror, 
and the hoary-haired villain fled precipitately from 
my apartment. 

I cannot find language forcible enough to pic- 
ture the dismay that now seized my guilt-stained 
soul. I cried out in the bitterness of my despair, 
“ Oh, wretched girl that I am ! Is there no spot 
on the earth, however remote, where I may inhale 
an atmosphere untainted by the foul breath of 
human fiends, hunting a poor, lost, motherless 
child to her everlasting ruin ? ” 

My religious teachers had instructed me that 
the sainted dead were permitted to plead for the 
beloved living, and I lifted my heart and voice to 
my mother in paradise. 

“ Oh, blessed angel-spirit! wilt thou not ask the 
Great God, before whom thou dost constantly 
bow, to forgive the poor, forsaken, miserable child 
thou didst once so much love ? Oh, ask him to 
grant her a place on his footstool, where she can 
live in purity, unmolested and unforbidden ! I 
feared to rejoin the family at the breakfast table 
below, and I remained in my chamber until Bertha 
came to me. Upon the assurance that her father 
had gone out, I accompanied her down-stairs. I 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


63 


could not eat. I returned to my room, and began 
to pack my clothes. The married daughter chanced 
to come in. I asked her into my chamber, and 
told her that I was going away. She expressed 
much surprise and regret, and finally prevailed 
upon me to reveal the cause of my suddenly 
formed resolution. She listened with a burning 
face of shame for a father she had hitherto re- 
spected. I think she secretly cherished the hope 
that my story was false, for she sought the old 
hypocrite and repeated my assertion. It was near 
noon. I had completed my arrangements for an 
immediate departure, and descended to the dining- 
room. The dinner was upon the table, but no 
person was in the room. I sat down by a window 
and waited. Five minutes had not passed before 
the door leading into Mr. Rodney’s private room 
was fiercely flung open, and the cowardly assailer 
of my unprotected womanhood advanced toward 
me with ungovernable fury flashing from his dark, 
sensual face, brandishing in his hand a large, glit- 
tering knife. It gleamed for an instant above my 
head. In my excitement and terror, I fancied the 
sharp, dreadful point entering my heart, and with 
a piercing scream that smote every ear in the little 
neighborhood, I fell helpless to the floor. I do not 


64 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


know what prevented the infuriated wretch from 
killing me, then and there, for I heard distinctly the 
terrible oaths that he would put an eternal stop to 
my babbling tongue, mingling with the confused 
sounds of voices approaching the house. 


CHAPTER VIL 


RESULT OF UNKINDNESS. 

The sun was just sinking, like a ball of crimson 
flame, behind the western range of mountains, as 
the low-roofed dwelling of the Catholic priest 
gladdened my aching vision. I sat down upon a 
fallen tree by the wayside, to gain a moment of 
rest before I ventured into the presence of one 
from whom I could expect little save cold charity 
and harsh reproof. The last twenty-four hours 
had been spent in wandering about in the solitary 
woods. I had taken the wrong direction, in my 
precipitate flight from the obscure little village ; 
and, upon emerging from the gloomy forest, found 
myself miles away from the river landing. I 
retreated hastily beneath the dark shadows. The 
lonesome woods seemed less fearful to my shrinkr 
ing heart, at that period, than the haunts of men. 
At daylight, I discovered, by the familiar objects 
that greeted me on either side of the rocky high- 
way, that I was in the road over which I had been 
6 * 65 


G6 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


driven to the house of my false, inhuman guardian. 
Every thing had become so whirled about in my 
confused brain, that I could not tell whether I was 
nearing the hated village or the coveted landing, 
until the priest’s low, dark, wooden house met my 
anxious gaze. I tapped timidly at the door. The 
old woman opened it, and stared at me long and 
suspiciously, before she invited me in. My wild, 
tear-stained face and garments, torn with briers, 
and covered with dust, seemed to strike some pity 
from her frigid heart; for, after listening to my 
story, she gave me some food, and a pair of shoes in 
lieu of those torn from my feet by the sharp rocks 
of the rugged highway. 

The priest chanced to be absent. I was glad to 
escape his scrutiny, and hastened on board the 
boat the instant it touched the landing. During 
the passage down the river, to the city of New 
York, my breast was the scene of a severe con- 
flict. Should I seek my brothers and sisters, and 
unfold to them the base insult that had driven me 
from the place of retirement, in which they 
flattered themselves I was safely hidden away 
from their sight — alone with my disgrace ? Or, 
should I fly to that house of unhallowed mirth, 
where the laws of God and man were trampled 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


67 


upon as unheedingly as the dust beneath the 
dancer’s heel ? 

I painted the widely different greeting that 
awaited me. The curling lip, the averted look, 
the sharp, reproachful language, the drawing aside 
of garments lest the touch of a thing so vile 
should blacken them — repelled me from the path 
I of right and honor, while winning smiles, flatter- 
I ing words and soothing attentions won me almost 
I irrisistibly to the wildering haunts of sinful 
pleasure. I should have flown at once to that 
gilded threshold and the embrace of the charmer 
' but I knew, by the very bitterest experience, 
' that there was an indescribable vision of horror 

I 

behind the glittering surface of the dazzling pic- 
j ture — deep immeasurable woe beyond the tempt- 
I ing portals of the living tomb. 

I The boat gained her mooring. I sprang upon 
I the wharf, and hurried towards the house where 
* dwelt my sisters, loving and beloved in their 
1 unspotted innocence. I stood in their presence. 
I must have looked like a culprit, for I hung 
my head upon my breast, and with stammering 
tongue whispered the tale that sent me forth to 
seek my brothers, for succor and redress. 

“ I don’t believe you, guilty girl ! It’s but a 


68 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


ruse to get back into the city again, where you 
can have a chance to pursue the nefarious trade 
of your choice.” 

These cruel, unjust words breaking in fiercest 
anger and scorn from the lips of Maria, smote my 
heart, fainting for sympathy and encouragement, 
with a blow so heavy and relentless that my ex- 
hausted frame sank at her feet. 

Katie, who had stood by in trembling silence, 
now raised me from the floor and placed me upon 
a sofa, bidding me, in pitying tones, with tears, to 
await quietly the return of my brothers, who 
would doubtless devise some means to redress my 
wrongs and place me in a happier situation. 

I lay there speechless, motionless, save the 
weary beating of my anguished heart, until the 
sound of my brothers’ footsteps echoed along the 
hall. A low, whispered consultation was held in 
the adjoining room. I sat upright, leaning forward 
in breathless surprise. 

A few seconds later my brother John was by 
my side. 

“Girl!” said he, with a merciless, frown, “tell 
me the truth, now, or PU make you sup sorrow. 
Why are you here ? ” 

I looked imploringly. I could not believe a 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


69 


human being would resist the agonizing entreaty 
that swelled up from my heart to my lips. 

“ Dear brother ! would you let me stay there if 
you knew the man you appointed my guardian 
was a villain ? ” 

“ Of course not ; but I have heard all about your 
artful subterfuge to get back to the city, and do not 
believe one word of it.” 

“ O John ! do you think I would lie ? Then I 
want you to go to the neighbors of that wicked 
man. They will tell you of his attempt upon my 
life, because I revealed his base design ; the fear- 
ful night of delirium I suffered ; my frantic efforts 
to get out of the house of my protector and fly from 
the village before the dawn. O my brother ! you 
will hear of this, some day, and know I have told 
you true, and you will be sorry, then, for this injus- 
tice and cruelty.” 

“ That will do, Anna. I am not so readily 
cheated, perhaps, as you imagine. Let me hasten 
to assure you that there remains but a single 
chance for you in life, where you will be kept from 
shaming yourself and those who would have de- 
fended you with their lives had you remained a 
good, virtuous girl.” 


70 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


I gazed up into his face eagerly. His next 
words plunged me in despair. 

“ That place can be found alone within the 
sacred walls of a nunnery. I shall never feel easy 
about you until I see you there. Your sisters, 
too, are in favor of the plan. Allow them to 
persuade you, Anna, to the only step that can 
secure your safety here and your happiness in 
the eternal world, whither your blessed mother has 
happily preceded us all.” 

1 was so overpowered with horror at this sug- 
gestion, that I did not open my lips to expostulate 
with my relentless brother. 

My sisters now came in, and they condescended 
to use tender and even loving words to induce me 
to bury myself, in the days of my youth, within 
the living grave of a convent cell. 

I listened in silence. They construed my non- 
resistance into acquiescence. They deemed their 
cause gained. They went out from my room, 
that began to loom up before my frantic gaze like 
a prison, with pleasant words upon their lips and 
cheering hopes in their hearts, that at last they 
had found a fitting and congenial place to entomb, 
out of their sight, their poor lost sister Anna and 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


71 


her shame. It were vain as useless to attempt a 
description of the strange, wild emotions that took 
possession of my weak, tried heart, at the moment 
the forms of my kindred vanished through the 
closing door. Passions that had slept undis- 
turbed in my youthful breast until now, were 
aroused into dangerous action. I walked the 
floor in a frenzy of anger, burning with the kind- 
ling fires of wicked revenge. Terrified with the 
heavy tides of hatred and malice that came pour- 
ing in upon my soul, I paused and tried to shake 
myself from what seemed a horrible midnight 
fantasy. I strove to reason with my outraged 
heart, but it ever replied : — 

“ Have I not cause for this ? I fell from virtue, I 
know ; but, O God ! thou knowest it was not wil- 
lingly. I repented, nevertheless, in the very dust. 
I confessed my sin at the feet of my brothers and 
sisters, imploring their forgiveness and protection. 
They spurned, mocked, threatened, and imprisoned 
me. I could not bear it. I fled from their 
cruelty. Starvation and vice stared me in the face 
on either side. In human weakness I chose the 
latter. My brother came to my rescue — not for 
love of me, — oh, I know it now! — but to hide a 
foul blot upon his name. He banished me from 


72 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


his eyes, away among strangers, and — oh ! worse 
than all — breathed a whisper of my blackened fame 
in the ear of one, who, silver-haired though he was, 
wanted only the chance to show himself a black- 
hearted wretch ! I have come again on my knees 
to entreat their mercy and care. They respond 
to my agonized prayer, by cool, deliberate arrange- 
ments to bury me alive ! Shall I submit ? No, 
by the angry heavens above me, and the unpitying 
earth beneath my feet ! I’ll live, now ! I’ll breathe 
God’s free air, to disgrace and shame them, if for 
nothing more! Henceforth I’ll shut out every 
reproving memory, every holy desire, even my 
mother’s sainted face, and plunge onward in a 
career I hate, detest, and abhor ! I’ll plead 
mercy no longer. Oh, house of sin ! open wide 
your doors to let me in. I’ll fly your crowning 
terrors no more.” 

Ere my Heaven-defying soliloquy was ended, I 
was in the house of ill fame on Doane Street, 
from which my brother had led me ten days be- 
fore. I think that my disappointment of finding 
sympathy in my sisters, my dread of a convent 
roof, beneath which I felt sure my brothers had 
resolved to immure me for life, made me partially 
insane ; for I cannot now recall the face that met 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


73 


me at that fearful door, nor the voice that wel- 
comed me within the crime-stained walls. Mrs. 
De Berry said that when she opened the door, in 
answer to my frantic ring, I threw myself into her 
arms, exclaiming, — 

“ I’ve come to live and die with you ! ” 

From this time, my steps took hold on hell. 1 
looked not back, but rushed onward with my 
equally mad companions, heedless that our dancing 
feet were momentarily nearing the brink of eternal 
ruin. Some grew faint in the giddy whirl, and 
fell reeling adown the awful precipice that gave 
back no shrieking victim. I laughed the merrier, 
though I felt the flames rolling more fiercely 
beneath my tread. 

Eight weeks fled away like a feverish dream. 
Our home of sinful revelry was enlivened by the 
presence of a Boston lady, of great fascination of 
manners and varied accomplishments. From the 
moment of her arrival, she appeared remarkably 
fond of me, and, at the end of a week, on the day 
of her departure, she importuned me so strongly 
that I consented to accompany her to this city. 

We arrived in Boston on Sunday morning, and 
taking a coach, my fascinating friend, who called 
herself Lizzie Jordan, conducted me to an elegantly 
7 


74 


THE EEFORMED WOMAN. 


furnished house on Endicott Street, kept by Emma 
Saval. Daring the gay evening that followed, I 
was sufficiently surprised to meet so many faces 
among the Sabbath-breaking, guilty revellers that I 
had gazed upon on the boat, and supposed from 
their appearance to be {>ersons of unquestionable 
character and respectability. Ah ! I could weep 
now, to think that there were men among that 
giddy throng who owned pure, beautiful sisters, 
and loving, trustful wives, that would shrink in 
shuddering horror from the vile, depraved creatures 
folded that night to the bosoms of their brothers 
and husbands! 


CHAPTER VIIL 

A BEAUTIFUL HOPE. 

One year of guilt and misery, passed in the 
midst of all the luxury and splendor that the 
deliberate barter of an immortal soul could win, 
flattered and caressed by the most refined and 
least suspected of the opposite sex whose liberality 
supports the strongholds of crime in high places 
of the city, and I was laid upon a bed of sickness, 
which to my terrified, smitten heart appeared 
the couch of death. 

A gloomy shadow had been hanging over my 
mind many days. I had promised one of my fre- 
quent guests, for whom I began to feel an attach- 
ment that made me hate myself and the sinful life 
I led, to accompany him to a fashionable ball in a 
suburban village. A distracting weight had lain 
upon my heart and brow all the weary afternoon, 
but when Harry Lincoln’s name was announced, 
I aroused myself, and with the assistance of Nelly 
Mercer, a young girl like me, frail and wretched, 

75 


76 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


made ready for the scene of festivity. All the 
while I kept repeating, “ Nelly, I am going because 
Harry wants me to ; but, O Nelly, mark my words! 
it will be my last ball. These roses in my hair, 
this flowing drapery bind my head and press my 
limbs like the bands and shroud that shall enwrap 
me — dead ! ” 

The tender-hearted little creature, with her sweet, 
smiling eyes and voice of richest tone, strove to 
cheer me ; but I put my hand over her mouth, 
touched my fevered lips to her forehead, and whis- 
pered, “ Nelly, dear, sit up for me this once ; I shall 
need you ! ” 

Harry was waiting impatiently below stairs. I 
hastened to his side. He praised my brilliant 
appearance. He did not know of the aching head ; 
he had not yet gazed upon the crushed, bleeding 
heart. 

Fleetly we sped over the glittering snow, merrily 
rang the musical bells, and in less than an hour we 
were among the pleasure-seeking crowd. Many 
artless, beautiful girls were present, who would 
have shuddered and retreated in bitter loathing 
from the gay scene, had they known what I knew 
— that the forms of lost, guilty women mingled 
with theirs in the whirling dance. O mothers ! how 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 77 

dare you expose your sweet young daughters to a 
possible if not probable contact froui this source, 
while you feel justified for their sakes in shutting 
your doors in the very faces of sin-stained but 
repentant ones besieging you for employment to 
keep them from falling back down to the chambers 
of death, from whence they have ventured timidly 
forth to try your Christian charity ? A few float- 
ing turns upon the floor and I fell fainting into the 
arms of my partner. Harry was instantly at my 
side, and, on my partial recovery, ordered his horse 
and sleigh, and conveyed me home, with a tender- 
ness and respect of which I felt keenly my utter 
un worth! ness. 

I remember the faces of Nelly and my landlady, 
as they bent over me in my own chamber. Then 
comes a long, weary blank on memory’s page. 

The next moment of perfect consciousness re- 
vealed Harry Lincoln sitting near my pillow, 
watching me with affectionate solicitude. I looked 
up into his face with wondering eyes and asked, 
‘‘ Where am I ? ” 

“ In your own chamber at home, Anna.” 

“ How long have I been sick ? ” 

“ About two weeks.” 

I was silent a few minutes, in which I strove to 

7 * 


78 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


lift my sin-laden soul to God, in thankfulness that 
a little more time was spared me to repent of my 
guilt. 

A hush, solemn and indescribable, seemed to 
pervade the room. For a time, I hesitated to 
break the sacred spell with my voice. At length I 
spoke. It was scarcely above a whisper. 

“ Harry, you must leave me now. I shall never 
more live as I have done. I am sorry for all that 
has passed between us, and acknowledge my in- 
debtedness to you for the kindest consideration I 
have ever received from the hands of that class of 
men to whom I owe my ruin. Go, Harry, and 
may the pitiful God forgive us both I ” 

I did not see Harry’s face while saying this, but 
I grew conscious that he was deeply moved. To 
frame a reply was evidently an effort. 

“ Why bid me leave you, Anna ? Do I stand in 
your way to a purer and better life ? ” 

The tears were filling my eyes as I rejoined, 
“ No, Harry, but you have known me in my degra- 
dation, and I cannot forget it while you are by.” 

“ Could you forget it if I were banished from 
your presence ? ” 

“ No ! no ! You torture me ! ” I cried, cover- 
ing my face and weeping convulsively. Harry en- 


THE REFORMED W.MAN. 


79 


deavored to soothe me. “ There, don’t weep so. 
I am going. But I must see you again when you 
are better. In the mean time believe me when I 
say I am glad of your good resolution, and so far 
from barring your progress I will heartily lend 
you my aid. Could I express to you the grief and 
disappointment I felt when I was told that the 
charming young lady I so much admired at the 
riding school, was a fallen woman, you would 
understand my present agitation. The past, the 
dreadful past, shuts my mouth, when my heart 
would fain encourage you in the noble aim of 
redeeming yourself from the cruel bondage of vice. 
There, don’t answer me. I’ll send Mrs. Lewis 
to you. Speak not another word for your life ! ” 
Harry was gone, and my landlady soon made 
her appearance. I welcomed her with a smile. 
She had been kind to me in the many months I 
had spent in her quiet home. 

In disgust at the throng that crowded the 
apartments of Emma Saval, I had left her house. 
I did not understand what it meant, when, 
after securing this retired place, I went back for 
my baggage, and found it missing. I learned 
afterward that this was but one of the arts of the 
nefarious profession. 


80 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


Mrs. Lewis had no boarders when I came to her 
house. I had stipulated, in my bargain with the 
lone widow, who was tempted by her poverty into 
becoming an accessory to crime, that no others 
should be admitted. 

One day a hackman brought Nelly Mercer to 
Mrs. Lewis’s door, through mistake, he said, though 
I somewhat doubted it. I was so much struck 
with her appearance, that I stopped in the parlor 
to converse with her. I learned that she had been 
seduced by a heartless villain, who was addressing 
her with a view to an honorable union, but after 
discovering her weakness and self-sacrificing devo- 
tion, left her to bear his shame and hers alone. In 
despair of regaining her position among her 
companions, she came to Boston for the express 
purpose of selling the poor remains of her chastity 
to whoever would buy ! It was a fearful cast 
for a girl so young and naturally inclined to good ; 
and one of the saddest of the sad reflections that 
haunt me still, is the painful memory that I did 
not persuade, terrify, or drag her from a life so 
horrible. 

I was able to sit up when Harry next came to 
see me. He placed himself beside me, and, after 
inquiring tenderly about my health, begged me to 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


81 


favor him with a faithful relation of my past life. 
It was hard for me to comply, but I felt too 
sensible of his kindness and attention, when all 
others had forsaken and ere this probably for- 
gotten me, to refuse a request so sincerely and 
earnestly made. With a faltering tongue, and 
many silent tears I strove to hide by averting my 
face, I told him all that has been recounted here. 

Harry listened with deep attention, and remained 
silent several minutes after I ceased speaking. 

“ Anna,’^ said he, at last, “ are you willing that I 
should open a correspondence with your brother 
on this painful subject ? ” 

“ Certainly,” I replied ; “ but what can be your 
object ? ” 

“ I will explain, Anna ; it is my opinion that you 
and your kindred do not understand each other. 
I flatter myself that I could present a view of your 
very peculiar case that would waken them to 
sympathy and inspire confidence in your desire to 
lead a life of purity.” 

“ Do you think so, Harry ? Oh, if you could, 
I should bless you forever ! If they would only 
receive me as a sister, and love me as in the 
depths of rny heart I desire to love them, I do 


82 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


believe, in spite of the wretched past, I might yet 
catch some gleams of happiness.” 

My enthusiastic, irrepressible outburst of feel- 
ing seemed to move my companion strangely. 

“ May I tell them,” he continued, “ that you are 
fully determined, come temptation in whatever 
form, to resist even beyond the dread of starvation, 
and live a blameless life, henceforth and ever ? ” 

“ Yes ! yes ! O Harry, you doubt me I Ah, 
it’ s little wonder ! I ought rather to be surprised 
that you trust my present sincerity.” 

“ No, Anna, I do not doubt your resolution, for 
the present nor the future; but I know it will re- 
quire a great deal of strength to carry out your 
determination, made in the fear of death, and I 
want you to make up your mind deliberately and 
understandingly.” 

There was much more conversation between 
us, unimportant to my history, and then Harry 
left me to address my kindred as a self-constituted 
mediator. This interview strengthened my virtu- 
ous resolve, and when, one week afterward, Harry 
came hurriedly into my chamber with an open 
letter from my brother John in his hand, filled 
with generous sentiments and expressions of the 
utmost willingness to receive the “ dear, lost 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


83 


child,” and help her on in the path of integrity, I 
was quite overpowered with joyous emotions. I 
thanked my true, kind friend with overflowing 
words, while tears of soul-felt penitence fell from 
my eyes. I called Nelly and Mrs. Lewis into 
my room, and told them how good and noble, after 
all, were my dear brothers, and how pure and 
beautiful and gentle were my sweet, precious 
sisters. I felt it all. I felt that I could forgive 
every thing, in that blessed hour when the doors of 
home, kindred hearts, and a pure life were unclos- 
ing to admit the returning wanderer ! 

“ Come, Nelly, my poor girl ! ” I exciaimed, 

^ throwing my arms about her in the fulness of 
my joy ; “ now you go back to your weeping 
mother, and tell her how wnretched and repentant 
you are. She will receive you and forgive you. 
Promise me this, Nelly, and that you will never 
come here again ! ” 

I It was an affecting scene for us all. Mrs. 
Lewis and Nelly mingled their tears with mine ; 
but the poor, deluded child had not become quite 
satisfied, as I had, that “ the wages of sin is death.” 
A few weeks of rapid recovery, a few days of 
preparation, and I bade adieu to my landlady 
and poor, dear Nelly. Harry accompanied me 


84 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


as far as Providence. I was to proceed from 
thence onward alone, to meet my brother at a 
specified point, and Harry was to return to his 
business in the city. 

I trembled and wept in view of the coming 
parting. From the moment I had acquainted 
Harry with my intention of forsaking my guilty 
life, he had treated me with studied respect, sup- 
plied my every want, spent many of his leisure 
hours in reading and conversing with me. I had 
learned to reverence him, yet I could not compre- 
hend his present position toward me. 

I dared not indulge the insane idea that I 
was honorably beloved. The distance between 
me and the man standing thoughtfully at my side, 
seemed immeasurable. Barrier above barrier rose 
up before my mind, to shut out the faintest glim- 
mer of such a hope ; his position in the world, an 
enterprising merchant, whose earliest efforts in 
business had been crowned with a success that 
had awakened the envy of his seniors ; his 
character, unblemished in the eyes of fond rela- 
tives and a large circle of admiring friends ; his 
intellectual acquirements and personal graces, 
rendering him an especial ornament to society. 
In that moment of self-abasement, I would not 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


85 


acknowledge that he had brought himself down to 
a level with me by crime. In my grief, I accused 
myself as being his temptress from the path of 
honor. 

“ Anna ! ” 

I lifted my bowed head and met Harry’s earnest 
eyes fixed on my face. He hesitated, while a 
crimson flush overspread his fine, white brow. 

“ Anna,” he repeated, “ I hardly know how to 
tell you what my heart is struggling to express. 
My judgment and the experience and opinions of 
others restrain me. But I must speak now or 
never. Anna, I loved you before I knew what 
you were. I hate and condemn myself, that, 
in pursuing our acquaintance, I became equally 
guilty. I have confidence in the truth of your past 
history. Had the circumstances of your life been 
favorable to purity, you had not fallen. I think 
you are sincere. I still love you, and believe that 
you love me truly. If you remain firm and con- 
stant one year — I shall not see you in that time — 
I will make you my wife.” 

The emotions that filled my breast at this mo- 
ment are among those that lie beyond the power 
of description. Humility, repentance, and grati- 
tude were among the guests that visited my 
8 


86 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


lone, sorrowing heart. I could almost have fallen 
at the feet of the man who seemed to the eyes of 
my soul so merciful, generous, and sacrificing! I 
did not attempt to speak. The wellsprings of 
tenderness, so long pent up in my bosom, were 
unsealed. 

Harry understood me. We parted not in sor- 
row, but in joy. A brighter meeting already 
threw its radiant beams adown the shadowy path 
of the future. 


CHAPTER IX. 


THE ARTIFICE. 

I WAITED on board the boat, after she gained the 
wharf at New York, full an hour, in the greatest 
impatience. My brother was to have met me there 
at the moment of my arrival. I caught a glimpse 
of two figures approaching the wharf. I felt con- 
fident that one was John ; the other might be Wil- 
j liam. I could not distinguish his features through 
the distance. Their hasty footsteps pressed the 
I heavy plank ; they were nearing the cabin. I ran 
forward, and threw my arms about my brother’s 
neck. He responded to my fervent utterances of 
joy in pleasant tones and kindly words, though I 
could not fail to perceive his peculiarly embar- 
rassed air, and hesitating, half-hearted manner. 
Dropping my hands and turning to his companion, 
whom I had already discovered to be a stranger, 
he said, — 

“ Anna, allow me to present to you a true and 
tried friend of our family — Mr. Duffee.” 


87 


88 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


I looked into the face of the gentleman while 
responding to his courteous greeting, and was 
struck by the marked significance of his glance. I 
suspected instantly that he knew my unhappy 
history, and that some strange, unforeseen circum- 
stances were gathering about my eventful life-path. 
The light and gladness were gone from my breast, 
and I walked beside my brother, in silence and 
apprehension, as we proceeded to leave the boat. 

I was conducted to a public house, for rest and 
refreshment. My fears that all was not as my 
hopeful heart anticipated were confirmed. 

“ Anna,” said John, regarding me with the old 
expression of severity, “ I hope you were not so 
foolish as to expect that we really meant to receive 
you into our family, after the shameful career you 
have pursued since you left us.” 

I choked down my grief and indignation, and 
replied with calmness, — 

“ Yes, my brother; I expected just that kind and 
merciful treatment, else I had not been here. I 
have a letter in my pocket penned by your hand, 
in which you unconditionally pledged yourself to 
receive me as a beloved sister.” 

“ Well, well, Anna; you know you have played 
many a shrewd game on us, and for me I feel per- 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


89 


fectly justified in using any means to withdraw 
you from the vices of the world and remove you 
beyond the reach of temptation. I regret that I 
am not now entirely prepared to place you within 
a convent’s walls. I trust the time is not far dis- 
tant when I can discharge this sacred duty to a 
devoted mother’s memory. I shall no longer suffer 
you to wear my name, nor recognize your kindred 
should you chance to meet them. This gentleman 
has consented to take you under his protection. 
Do not fear to trust him ; he is no Rodney, you 
will find. 

“ Remember, henceforth, you are Miss Duffee, 
this man’s sister. We have secured an excellent 
boarding-place for you at present, where you will 
not be exposed to the allurements of vice. Your 
adopted brother will take you there at once. Be 
prudent, and you will be safely guarded from want 
and suffering. Attempt an escape, and you shall 
find a prison.” 

I gazed upon my mother’s son with amazement 
and dread. I was bewildered. I could not com- 
prehend a nature capable of so much treachery, 
cruelty, and injustice. I did not utter a word of 
reproach, or endeavor to move my inhuman rela- 
tive by prayer or entreaty. I turned away with 
8 * 


90 


THE REFOEMED WOMAN. 


feelings of hatred and bitterness, that I had hoped 
would never more revisit my breast. I had no 
idea of submitting to this tyranny, but I thought I 
would be silent, appear to yield, and wait an 
opportunity for an escape. 

John was deceived by my suppressed manner, 
and bade me adieu with much apparent cheerful- 
ness at the success of his artful stratagem. Mr. 
Duffee conveyed me to the house of a devoted 
Catholic lady, in the suburbs of Jersey City. He 
introduced me as his sister, and left immediately. 
I knew that I must remain here until I could write 
to Harry, inform him of my situation, solicit his 
advice, and obtain an answer. Therefore I did not 
contradict the false story, nor manifest any symp- 
toms of dissatisfaction. 

Immediate suspicion was attached by the 
neighbors because of the mystery that envel- 
oped me. The curious could not read me, and 
therefore condemned me as unworthy their sym- 
pathy or respect. My position was one of con- 
stantly recurring perplexities, not the least of which 
was the false name forced upon me. 

Days lengthened into weeks, bringing no reply 
to the letter dispatched to Boston. I penned 
another. One month was gone. I hoped and 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


91 


waited in vain. In the depths of my disappoint- 
ment, I could grasp but a single conclusion, and 
that pierced my trusting heart with a new, bitter 
agony. Harry Lincoln had repented the proposal 
made me, it must be confessed in a somewhat 
hesitating and doubting manner. I could not 
blame him. I might have known that an attach- 
ment without the strong basis of virtue and re- 
spect, must prove unstable as the wind. 

It was a heart-crushing thing for me, then, to 
feel that I could never be blessed in loving and 
being loved. I grew melancholy. I saw no one 
that I ever met before, and I was keenly alive to 
the wretchedness of my condition. 

I requested Mr. Duffee, who visited me fre- 
quently, to procure me another boarding-place, 
more retired, and farther removed from the crowded 
city. The following day, he made his appearance 
accompanied by my brother. I was requested to 
make myself ready for a walk. I was too miser- 
able to dread any change. I fancied it could not 
well be for the worse. My keepers led me nearly 
across the city. We were admitted into a house 
standing at some distance from any other, by a 
porter, and ushered into the presence of a man of 
massive proportions wearing a sleek, oily visage. 
I suspected him at once to be a Catholic priest. 


92 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


After the usual salutations, my companions re- 
tired to an ante-room, and I was left alone with the 
repulsive-looking personage. 

“ Well, daughter,” he commenced, with a very 
bland smile, “ I understand that you have been a 
very wicked girl, and are now resolved to conse- 
crate yourself to the solemn service of an offended 
God, for the remainder of your days.” 

I was in no degree surprised at this introduction, 
and responded to it evasively. He drew his chair 
nearer mine, and, placing one of his great fat hands 
familiarly on my shoulder, continued, — 

“ It’s a thousand pities that a girl so young 
and pretty — you are a very pretty girl — should 
be hidden away among the old and ugly. What 
have you done, little one ? ” 

Every thing,” I replied, jerking my shoulder 
from beneath his hand. 

“ Were you ever in a house of ill-fame ?” 

« Yes.” 

“ Well, daughter, how do they manage in those 
establishments ? ” 

“ Manage to destroy you, soul and body.” 

The artful old wolf in sheep’s clothing looked a 
little abashed, as I glanced up into his sensual 
face. He quickly recovered his nonchalance and 
resumed, — 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


93 


“ Suppose I should wish to find a girl who was 
detained in one of those houses against her will, 
how could I manage to get admitted without any 
one suspecting my sacred office ? ” 

“ Walk right up and ring the bell. I don’t 
think the keenest would accuse you of being a 
priest of God.” 

Many more equally pressing and suspicious 
questions were propounded, to which I returned 
answers equally impertinent and sarcastic. 

The interview was terminated by a positive 
command issuing from the priest’s coarse mouth, 
that I should immediately enter a convent, pro- 
vided, of course, my brother was prepared to pay 
the sum of money necessary to secure a place in 
the holy institution over which this holy father 
held undisputed sway. 

When I was re-joined by my brother, and we were 
again walldng along the street, I told him, without 
reserve, that I would never willingly enter a con- 
vent. I accused him, in my anger, of treating me 
with cruelty and the basest treachery. He left 
me indignantly to the care of Mr. Duffee, who 
took me to a lone dwelling, deep in the woods of 
Jersey. An old lady with a very benevolent face 
welcomed me to her humble home. My com- 


94 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


panion’s stay was brief. He remarked, as he left 
the room with a self-satisfied smile, — 

“ I trust, my dear sister, you will find this spot 
sufficiently retired, and far enough removed from 
annoying society.” 

I thanked him, expressing myself quite delighted 
with the change in my residence. My pleasure 
was no affectation. I looked about me with real, 
heart-felt thankfulness. It was a beautiful day 
of sunshine. The birds were singing in the tall 
trees that waved above the verdant opening. The 
river rolled in a rushing murmur through the 
neighboring meadow. I was alone with nature, 
and my thoughts grew purer, desires for a better 
life kindled up again from the ashes of my beau- 
tiful hope, dead and buried ! 

Mrs. Berkly, the kind old lady, was a Protes- 
tant — more — she was a Christian. I soon came 
to regard her with affection, and she treated me 
tenderly, as one like her would be supposed to 
treat, a beloved daughter. That bright ffeeting 
month of the Indian summer — blest pause of 
purity and peace amid years of guilt and woe! 
I love to recall it, Its stainless hours were spent 
in morning rambles over the dewv grass, noon- 
day readings beneath the forest arches, twilight- 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


95 


dreamings on a pleasant river-bank, listening with 
rapt soul to strains of sweetest melody, borne 
across the rippling waves by the evening breeze 
from the beautiful shores of Hoboken. I used to 
gaze upon the moving throng on the opposite side, 
and, remembering the loathsome past, thank God, 
who seemed nearer to my soul in the hush of 
those solitudes than ever before — that the deep, 
dark river rolled between me and them ! I 
sometimes prayed — “ Oh, if all that know me 
in the breathing world would but forget and leave 
me here, and I could drown my memory in this 
pure, sparkling stream, how peacefully and sin- 
lessly might my life glide away, amidst these 
fields, these woods, these flowers, the only living 
things that never tempted me, or refused to reflect 
in my sad face the smile of God’s infinite love ! ” 

I could have wept but for the stranger eyes that 
were fixed upon me, when, on returning one day 
from a protracted ramble, I found some ladies and 
a gentleman at the little cottage. Mrs. Berkly 
introduced them — Mrs. Haliday and sister, Mr. 
Markman and his niece. The party had strolled 
away from the city for a day’s rustic pleasure, and 
having known the kind old lady in former years, 
ventured to claim her hospitality during the heat 
of noon. 


96 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


My company was earnestly solicited for the i 
remainder of the day. Conscience was faithful in 
warning, and whispered a firm denial. My yield- 
ing heart of softness — suddenly inspired with 
a yearning- for companionship — plead for the 
tempting indulgence I went. I returned at night ! 
charmed with my new acquaintances, and Nature’s 
face grew less radiant when their flattering pres- 
ence was withdrawn. One week later, Mrs. 
Haliday came again. It was not for a visit, she 
declared, but to rob her old friend of her gentle 
companion. 

Mrs. Berkly replied smilingly, — 

“ The birds and butterflies will find most cause 
to complain ; they get the greater part of Anna’s : 
society.” 

With my natural desire of pleasing, I could not 
fail to be highly gratified with the lady’s evident 
admiration, and added my entreaties to hers. 

The kind, conscientious woman grew serious as 
she mentioned the strict orders of the man she 
deemed my brother, that I should neither visit nor 
receive company. Mrs. Haliday became more 
pressing while my tearful face plead most elo- 
quently with the tender-hearted old lady. 

At length, a reluctant consent was given, with 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


97 


the provision that I should acquaint my brother 
with the circumstance and refrain from farther 
solicitations for similar privileges, in the case of 
his displeasure. 

My agreeable hostess lived in genteel style, in 
the heart of the city, and I passed the day very 
agreeably — suffered myself to be persuaded to 
attend the opera in the evening, and returned at 
a late or rather early hour ; — for it was long past 
midnight when I reached my little forest home. 
Mr. Markman had been my attendant, and waited 
upon me with respectful politeness. 

This unexpected meeting, pleasant visit, and 
evening entertainment were true types of many 
that followed, until, with my brother’s consent, 
through Mr. Duffee, — who by inquiries learned 
that Mrs. Haliday was a woman of unqestionable 
character, a member of a church, the wife of a 
sexton, — I removed to her house as a boarder. 

John was not quite ready to send me to the con- 
vent, and Mrs. Haliday was making arrangements 
to leave the city, and take up her residence in 
Rockland County ; and he hailed with delight an 
opportunity to place so many miles between us, 
wdthout exposing me to the temptations of vice. 

9 


CHAPTER X. 


THE PLOTTING WOMAN. 

“ Whose pleasant little room is this, with its 
elegant chamber-set and lace-curtained windows?” 
I asked admiringly, as Sophie Grant and I ran 
eagerly through the tasteful cottage in a quiet 
village in Rockland County, at which we had just 
arrived, two days subsequent to Mrs. Haliday^s 
lemoval from the city. 

I can’t imagine, Fm sure, unless it is ours, 
i’ll ask sister.” 

“ Do ; I’m enchanted with the prospect from this 
window.” 

Mrs. Haliday made her appearance, in answer 
to her sister’s merry voice, and quite astonished 
us both by the intelligence that the room we so 
much coveted was to be occupied by Mr. Mark- 
man ; that she had accompanied and assisted him 
in the selection of the splendid furniture. 

“ Why, sister, you did not tell me of this ! How 
can Mr. Markman board so far from his business?” 

98 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


99 


Mrs. Haliday laughed, and, looking steadily into 
my face, replied, — 

“ Oh, that can be arranged easily enough. Mr. 
Markman does not value a little extra trouble for 
the sake of daily beholding his charmer.’^ 

These words occasioned me no small degree 
of confusion and perplexity. Mr. Markman had 
been very attentive to me. I doubted not but he 
was strongly impressed in my favor. I was equally 
positive that he supposed me to be a girl of spot- 
less innocence. I was pleased with him and 
grateful for his many kindnesses. I had ceased 
to indulge a single hope of ever again hearing 
from Harry Lincoln, yet I still dwelt too much 
upon our brief acquaintance, to suffer me to 
become greatly attached to another. I began 
deeply to regret my removal to this plaqe. 

Weeks passed away. Mr. Markman was con- 
stantly at my side when his business would allow 
him to be absent from the city. I did not en- 
courage him by words, and yet I found not the 
decision to refuse his civilities. I observed that 
Sophie watched the progress of our intimacy with 
visible uneasiness. I fancied she cherished a 
secret preference for my devoted suitor. 

One night, after I returned from a visit to the 


100 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


city, accompanied by Mr. Markman, I found her 
awake and apparently oppressed by a painful 
anxiety. 

“ What is the matter, Sophie ? ’’ I asked, with a 
tenderness I did not feign. I loved the kind, truth- 
ful girl. “ You appear strangely disturbed of late.’^ 

“ I am disturbed and unhappy ; and my sister 
would be dreadfully angry with me if I should tell 
you the cause.’’ 

“ Ts it anything that concernes me ? ” I in- 
quired, earnestly. 

“ Yes, deeply.” 

“ Then, Sophie, I am sure if you feel the friend- 
ship you have professed for me, you will speak, 
whether another is pleased or not.” 

“ I will speak,” she exclaimed, impulsively. “ I 
can warn you, if nothing more.” 

Her lips approached my ear and her voice sank 
into a whisper, — 

“ Anna, Ethan Markman is a villain ! ” 

I did not start, shiver, and weep, as the pure, 
unsuspecting girl anticipated. Alas! that shrink- 
ing horror of crime which usually pervades the 
hearts of truthful maidens had long since left my 
breast. Nevertheless, though the strongest induce- 
ment to a purer life had been rent from my visions 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


101 


of the future, I was fully determined never again 
to subsist upon the wages of sin. I shuddered and 
trembled in memory of that sick couch over which 
hovered, two long weeks, the angel of death. Fear- 
ful dreams, gradually creeping forth from that period 
of unconsciousness, warned me perpetually against 
the insinuating approaches of vice. 

The most pressing entreaties could win nothing 
more definite from the lips of the conscientious 
girl, and 1 composed myself to sleep with the 
resolution to place myself upon my guard, and 
await the unveiling of a character I had already 
begun to suspect. On the following day, one of 
the neighbors called to me from a window I was 
passing, and begging pardon for the liberty she 
was about to take, asked me if I knew that the 
gentleman boarding at Mrs. Haliday^s was a mar- 
ried man. 

I was somewhat surprised now, though the 
guilty experience of the past had by no means led 
me to the conclusion that libertinism was con- 
fined to unwedded men. 

My startled appearance convinced the lady of 
my ignorance of the fact her question disclosed. 
I was invited into her parlor, and she proceeded to 
the narration of a sad, affecting history of a young, 
9 * 


102 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


beautiful girl destroyed by this wretch during the 
past year in an adjoining town, where he had 
established his quarters for the summer. To 
escape the indignation of a father, he had returned 
precipitately to the city. The entreaties of the 
poor girl, who shrank from the publicity of an 
affair so dishonorable to herself, doubtless saved 
the vile seducer’s life. 

I went out from the presence of this stranger, 
who had taken so kindly an interest in one she 
little deemed had forfeited all claim to the confi- 
dence and respect of virtuous beings like herself. 
I was saddened and pained more by the discovery 
of Mrs. Haliday’s perfidy, than Markman’s villainy. 

I could no longer doubt what the good lady 
cautiously intimated, that this removal from town 
into this retired locality was her part of the deeply- 
laid scheme for the destruction of one they sup- 
posed to be an innocent, unoffending orphan, neg- 
lected and wronged by her kindred. 

I ordered a carriage to convey me to the depot 
on my way back to the cottage, and before my 
deceitful friend and artful landlady was aware of 
my discovery or intention, I presented myself 
before her to make my final adieus. 

The surprise threw her off her guard, and she 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


103 


broke forth in a shower of angry reproaches. I 
responded by fierce upbraidings, flinging her hypo- 
critical profession in her teeth, and threatenings 
of a coming revelation of her double character. I 
left with a smile of triumph on my features, while 
the poor baffled tool of a villain’s lust writhed in 
a paroxysm of rage and apprehension. 

Arrived in New York, I engaged a hackman to 

set me down at my brother John’s door, on 

Street. I had learned from Mr. Duffee of his mar- 
riage, and I determined to make an appeal to his 
heart through one who might be supposed to hold 
a powerful sway within — his wife. 

I was received with more kindness than I an- 
ticipated. My new sister bade me welcome to her 
home during the short period that lay between me 
and my living tomb. I can speak of it, even now, 
in no other light; so dark, drear, and hopeless 
gleamed up against the bright, blue sky those 
frowning convent walls ! 

My brother’s wife was social and communica- 
tive. She had entered the family too recently to 
become fully imbued with the proud, unforgiving 
spirit that lay like a wintry chill uj>on each gen- 
erous impulse. She had forgotten that some of 
the secrets of this household band were to be kept 


104 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


from me, the poor wretched alien. During an idle, 
unguarded chat, she chanced to speak of a lover in 
Boston. I eagerly pursued the train of ideas, and 
learned, to my astonishment and grief, that letters 
directed to me had been received, perused, and 
consigned to the flames ; that my own dispatched 
to Harry Lincoln had been taken from the mes- 
senger I trusted, and condemned to the same fate. 
I succeeded by a powerful effort in concealing my 
emotions, until I reached my chamber. There I 
let the tears of mingled sorrow and gladness flow 
forth freely, irom eyes of late but little used to 
weeping. 

A strange, blissful hope stole in among the un- 
locked sympathies of my heart. Harry had not 
forgotten me ; perchance he loved me still. 

“ One year of truth and purity and you shall 
be mine.” I repeated those blessed words with 
joy, and I exulted in the consciousness that the 
All-seeing One above knew that I had kept my 
silently pledged faith. I wondered how I had 
kept it, when all my earthly hopes expired with 
my trust in an arm of flesh, during the long 
period I had4)een an exile, an outcast, wandering 
about under a false name, a false character, among 
beings false and treacherous, as I was weak and 
frail. 


CHAPTER XL 

A HASTY EVENT. 

Morning bright and beautiful! I sat in my 
sister’s drawing-room indulging my sad heart 
in a fond dream of coming bliss. Harry was 
true. I knew it now. He would believe me 
when I explained the long silence. I had written 
a letter disclosing the deep scheme of treachery 
that had wellnigh severed us forever. An oppor- 
tunity was only awaited to place it in the post- 
office, beyond the probability of miscarriage. 

The unlatching of the door broke in upon my 
sweet reverie. My brother John stood before me. 

“ Anna,” said he, “ I am happy to inform you, 
this morning, of the precise time that you will be 
permitted to enter the sacred walls of a cloister. 
On Monday next you will have the high privilege 
of renouncing the world and its vanities. I trust 
it will seem no sacrifice on your part. Think 
how much better it will be for you — for us all! ” 

“ Doubtless,” was my curt answer. Alas, the 

105 


I 


106 THE REFORMED WOMAN. 

bitter injustice with which I had been treated 
taught we well the dangerous art of dissimulation ! 

No opposition was apparent, in looks or man- 
ner, and my brother soon left me with an approv- 
ing smile overspreading his features. 

I hastened to my chamber with a breast torn by 
contending passions, and crowded with new per- 
plexities. There would not be time for the letter 
I had penned with hopes so radiant to reach its 
destination, and gain a reply, ere the coming of 
the dreaded moment that would shut me up from 
life’s joys. My soul revolted from the idea of 
seeking assistance from any of those who had 
betrayed me into a life of crime ; and yet, oh, sad 
fate! I knew no others who would stretch forth 
a helping hand to save me from the living grave 
yawning at my feet. 

Time was waning. I dared not waste it in 
idle delay. I seized a pen, and addressed a few 
lines to a lady in Boston, who, I felt assured, would 
surmount even greater obstacles to rescue me from 
my impending fate. 

Was it for the sake of friendship, or any kin- 
dred, holy motive? Nay, my heart aches as I 
recall it ; the money to be made from my precious 
soul’s barter was the glittering goal that would 
impel her onward. 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


107 


I could not receive this woman in my brother’s 
home. Should he suspect the slightest reluctance 
on my part, or design in the movements of another, 
watchful eyes would guard my footsteps. I could 
see no other alternative but the appointment of 
a meeting at Mrs. De Berry’s, on Doane Street, 
trusting to my skill and possible circumstances 
to fulfil the engagement. 

The night of the rendezvous was fearful. The 
rain, pouring in torrents from the clouds, converted 
the streets and sidewalks into an overflowing 
flood; the vivid gleams of lightning shot forth 
from the angry heavens, fitfully illuminating the 
gloomy scene, and filling my heart with a terrible 
dread lest one of the pointed shafts should pierce 
my desperate brain, and leave me, smitten of God 
to die a horrible death alone! I had escaped 
from the back entrance of my brother’s dwelling 
unperceived, and was rapidly nearing the house 
where I had fallen down — down until the very 
gates of perdition, standing ajar, seemed ready to 
swallow me ! Darkness enveloped me. I hurried 
on with reckless haste. I had trodden this path 
too often to miss my way. The Boston procuress 
was there before me. I had calculated only too 
surely on her avidity. I kept my own counsel. 


108 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


however, and urged an immediate return. Soon 
as I found myself again in the city, where I hoped 
to meet Harry, for whom the perils of a base be- 
trayal, — a fall from my present position, deemed 
too secure, — had been dared, I proceeded cau- 
tiously to make inquiries in relation to his situa- 
tion. Words cannot picture the agonies of dis- 
appointment I suffered, on learning that the 
man who had encourged me to redeem myself 
from vice — promised to love and marry me if I 
succeeded, was about being united to another, 
a pure, lovely girl, every way worthy of his affec- 
tion and trust! 

Too late for my own happiness — but, O sainted 
mother ! I will not so far forget thee in my loneli- 
ness and sorrow, as to step between that innocent 
girl and her loving faith in the man of her choice. 
I cannot stay here and sink helplessly back into 
the abyss from which one of God’s merciful judg- 
ments delivered me.” 

My heart was strongly set against a life of sin, 
but I knew not what to do. A circumstance 
which I then regarded almost as an interposition 
of the saints in my behalf, threw me into the 
presence of an actress. She appeared highly 
pleased with me, and kindly inquired my pursuit. 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


109 


I was won by the gentleness of her manner, and 
told her my destitution and friendlessness, repress- 
ing only the darkening shades lying along the 
pathway of my brief existence. 

We sat together in a room alone. There came 
a moment of silence. 

“ Anna,” said the lady, “ can you dance ? ” 

“ Indifferently,” was my reply. 

“ Will you try, just to amuse me ? ” 

I hesitated — a pair of smUing eyes encouraged 
me. I attempted a few steps upon the carpet, to 
the quick notes stealing from the piano beneath 
the light touch of skilful fingers. 

“ Anna, my love, there is a fortune in your 
feet ! ” was the enthusiastic exclamation of the 
actress, as she clasped me in her arms. “ You shall 
come to my home immediately, and I will teach 
you the graceful art, and secure you an engage- 
ment that shall place you above want, and beyond 
the need of the charity of your unkind relatives.” 

I was enchanted at the idea, and expressed my 
gratitude in broken words for her kindness to a 
lone orphan. 

“ My mother will look down from the skies and 
bless you ! ” I murmured, in a fervent tone, as I 
placed my lips upon the soft, white hand, 

10 


no 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


I accompanied my benefactress to her home, 
an elegant suite of rooms in a private house occu- 
pied by Mrs. Ayer, a singularly beautiful woman, 
though past the period of youth. It was sev- 
eral weeks before I learned the true position she 
sustained. 

Ambition had been awakened in my breast, 
and I devoted myself, heart and soul, to the ac- 
quirement of an art, which was to feast my 
dangerous love of praise, and place me above the 
necessity of selling my soul for a morsel of bread ! 

My life was now merged in a constant round 
of excitement and pleasure, — sinful pleasure, — 
which in my blindness I almost deemed innocent. 
Nightly I visited the theatre, at which my patron 
was playing an engagement; daily I listened to 
vain, idle flatteries, from the lips of gay, fashionable 
persons who frequented the parlors of Mrs. Ayer. 
One afternoon, while my patron was attending a re- 
hearsal at the theatre, I went down as usual to pass 
the hour of her absence with my new friend, who 
exerted over my young mind a strange, powerful 
influence. Two gentlemen arose at my entrance 
and were introduced to me by Mrs. Ayer. Seats 
were resumed, and the conversation went on in 
a gay, unrestrained manner. Fred Westfield, the 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


Ill 


elder of the gentlemen, was spirited, keen, and 
evidently a man who had moved in refined circles 
and seen a great deal of the world. His com- 
j panion, Barnard Cooley, impressed me as a dash- 
ing, good-humored, generous fellow, one of that 
i kind who would a thousand times prefer a short 
' life and a merry one, to a long term of years filled 
: up with every-day home duties, and quiet, unevent- 

ful scenes. During the social interview, I promised 
the latter to go with him to the theatre. I was 
influenced strongly by Mrs. Ayer, who whispered in 
' my ear that she would accompany us with Fred 
1 Westfield, her accepted lover. 

I An acquaintance and intimacy grew out of 
I: this casual meeting, which resulted in the abandon- 
i ment of the profession studied s o enthusiastically 
[ during the past few weeks, and an event that 
|i should command the utmost discretion of mature 
j; womanhood, but in which I committed myself 
I with scarcely a thought of the present or a 
reasonable anticipation of the future — a matri- 
monial engagement. I did not deceive the man 
^ who chose me for his wife; he knew the dark 
i history of the past — my present earnestness to 
[ pursue the vocation so dazzling to my inflamed 
I fancy. He was doubtless in some degree infatu- 


112 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


ated by those unfortunate attractions which had 
rendered me a mark for the seducer’s skill. He 
flattered himself that my manners were uncor- 
rupted, my heart uncontaminated by the scenes of 
gilded vice through which I had passed. I did 
hope that he pitied me, friendless, homeless, and 
so young ! Sixteen years old ! At this age, when 
girls blest with good homes and kind friends are 
bending over their studies in the school-room, pre- 
paring themselves for a life of usefulness, I was 
thoughtlessly selecting and arranging my wedding 
attire. 

A crowded history of wrong, sin, and sorrow lay 
behind me. A brighter picture had been unfolded 
to my gaze, by my actress friend, but I could not 
remain blind to the fact that the path marked out 
for me was beset with difficulties and temptations. 
The offer of a genteel home and a plentiful purse, 
without wearying efforts, or the remorse and 
horror attendant upon a life of crime, was doubt- 
less a strong inducement for me to fulfil the 
hastily formed agreement. In my dependent con- 
dition, conscious of my blighted fame, with the 
cold pressure of a dead hope upon my heart, I 
overlooked those important queries in regard to 
adaptation of character, similarity of tastes, and 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


113 


oneness of soul, that should govern a reasoning 
being in the choice of a life-companion. 

On the way to New York, where we were to 
exchange the most sacred of earth’s vows, accom- 
panied by Fred Westfield and Mrs. Ayer on a like 
errand, I learned the story of this fascinating and 
mysterious woman. 

Years ago, in her girlhood, Helen Ayer had been 
won and led to the altar by Fred Westfield. A 
proud, rich father, now deceased, stood between 
them and forbade the banns. Again and again 
a bridal was attempted, with the same inter- 
ruption. The result — a hired house splendidly 
furnished, a guilty mistress instead of a virtuous 
wife, an unblushing libertine in lieu of an honest, 
loving husband. 

10 * 


CHAPTER XIL 


THE STEP BACKWARD. 

A WIFE and a lone watcher at the midnight hour! 
Was it for this I relinquished the hope of winning 
the adulation of crowds ; turned my back upon 
scenes of gaiety and excitement that cheated life’s 
moments of half their length and weight ; buried so 
deep in my heart all memories of him whose future 
was parted from mine by unpitying kindred, that 
^is figure crossed my shadow, in this afternoon’s 
walk, without startling me into an exclamation or 
even a glance of recognition ? 

Was it for the poor privilege of calling a man 
husband, who in these hours, so long and dreary to 
me, is rioting, feasting, and dancing the night away, 
that I came to the home of his relatives, to brave 
the silent sneer, the covert sarcasm, those powerful 
weapons forever bristling against the woman once 
fallen from virtue ? 

I burst into tears at the termination of tliis 
bitter soliloquy, and bowed my head upon the 
window-frame near which I had been sitting, 
watching for my husband’s return. 


114 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


115 


It was no new thing for me to wait thus. The 
experience of two years had taught me many sad 
lessons. I had learned to value lightly the gifts 
bought with money. From the elegance and 
beauty that surrounded me, the rich garments that 
enrobed my person, I turned away with a sicken- 
ing heart, asking only for the love, truth, and sym- 
pathy a wife could rightfully claim at the hands 
of one who had won her with tender words and 
promises of lifelong fidelity. A new fount of 
happiness had been unsealed in my being by the 
advent of a lovely little babe at our fireside. I 
had gazed with a thrill of silent rapture upon the 
pure face nestling in my bosom, and a fervent 
prayer went up to God for strength and wisdom 
to lead its tiny footsteps far away from the broad, 
dusty highway of sin which I had travelled, into 
the cool, green paths of righteousness. 

One little month, in which the violet eyes had 
learned to seek a mother’s face as flowers unfold 
their beauties to the sun, the rosebud lips to ex- 
pand into smiles at the bidding of a mother’s voice, 
and the sweet angel was lifted gently from my 
clinging arms to the tender bosom of the heavenly 
Shepherd. 

I was so sad and lonely now! I plead even 


116 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


more earnestly for the society of him, bound to 
my soul by a tenderer, stronger tie. It was granted 
for a little space, and then the syren Pleasure won 
him again from his peaceful home. Dinner parties, 
sleigh-rides, and midnight balls filled up his hours 
of leisure. I sat complaining, weeping, and watch- 
ing alone. 

Barnard had removed me from his father’s house, 
and being in delicate health, I found myself 
almost entirely excluded from society. Except 
during the hours of my daily walks and rides in 
the open air, I was seldom cheered by the sight 
of a human face, save that of my servant, or those 
of the hurrying strangers passing beneath my 
window. 

My heart had grown hard under the repeated 
grievances of neglect, and absence of sympathy. 
In a home of comfort — yes, more, luxury — I was 
starving, dying, for want of love and kindness. 
Could husbands but realize how lightly their 
richest gifts and costliest favors are esteemed, in 
comparison to words of affection, acts of apprecia- 
tive tenderness, and above all, their presence at the 
evening fireside, there would be a fewer number 
of false wives, and quiet neighborhoods would be 
less frequently overshadowed with horror by start- 
ling domestic tragedies. 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


117 


My husband’s well-known step echoing along 
the sidewalk beneath my window, caused me to 
wipe the traces of tears from my cheek, and creep 
stealthily to my couch. 

I had opened my grieved heart of weakness to 
a dangerous guest — pride. I resolved never more 
to let my husband know how much his absence 
pained me. I persuaded myself that he did not 
care for me in the slightest manner, else he had 
long ago noted the increasing pallor of my face — 
the care shadows gathering on my brow. 

Barnard seemed relieved of an appearance of 
anxiety on finding me in bed and apparently 
asleep. My tears and reproaches annoyed him. 
He could not understand why a wife, supplied 
with every luxury that a full purse could procure, 
and a willing servant to obey her commands, 
should be unhappy. I doubt not but he thought 
^ me as unreasonable and exacting, as I deemed 
him unfeeling and neglectful. Misconception of 
each other — one of the most fruitful causes of 
misery in the matrimonial relation — had been 
daily removing us farther and farther apart. 

I was less hopeless and wretched on the follow- 
ing morning, as I arrayed myself as usual, and 
left my door for a short walk. I hardly dared 


118 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


acknowledge it to myself, but there was just a 
thought of the probability of again meeting a face, 
reproduced in vivid colors on the page I had 
striven for the past two years to render an utter 
blank. 

I can say before my Maker, that when I became 
the wife of Barnard Cooley, I recognized the mar- 
riage contract to be the “ forsaking of all others, 
and cleaving only to him.” The possibility of 
untruth on my part, never stained the purity of my 
thoughts. I am not so ungenerous as to desire 
to cast upon another the guilt of my own sins, 
but I have sometimes thought, in view of other 
cases as well as mine, that recreant husbands 
often leave their partners in life unto^ if they do 
not lead them mto, temptation. 

I had scarcely gained a square before I dis- 
covered the figure that had abbreviated yesterday’s 
promenade, approaching me with hurried steps. 

“ Anna ! I knew I could not be mistaken. Per- 
mit me to walk quietly by your side a few mo- 
ments. I wish to speak to you. Why did you 
pass me yesterday with averted eyes, and fly from 
me as if I were an enemy ? ” 

“Because, Harry, we are both married now, 
and it is not right for us to recall the past.” 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


119 


I felt the crimsoned blood pouring over my face, 
and the stinging of conscience at my heart. I 
shrank now from the revelation which I knew 
Harry Lincoln would seek to wring from my lips. 

“ Anna, — I cannot call you Mrs. Cooley, — I 
want you to explain the mystery of your treat- 
ment of me and my letters. I never could under- 
stand it.” 

“ I might once, Harry. I cannot now.” 

“ You must, and you will, Anna! ” 

“ Not, now,” I replied, with increasing confu- 
sion, as I turned to leave him. 

“ When ? ” 

“ To-morrow, at my house.” 

“ At what time ? ” 

I trembled fearfully as I mentioned an hour 
when I was sure of being alone. 

“ Very well ; I shall be there.” 

I hastened home in the greatest perturbation of 
mind, and, throwing myself upon a sofa, wept 
bitterly in view of the mine I feared was already 
sprung beneath my feet. 

I consoled myself at length with the resolution, 
repeated a dozen times in the endeavor to render 
it firmer, that I would just tell Harry the story, 
and rid my memory of the stigma of falseness. 


120 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


and then bid him adieu forever. Oh, what danger 
lurks in the first little step down a forbidden path I 
Harry Lincoln, the trusted husband of another, 
was faithful to his appointment with a neglected, 
terrified wife. I will not dwell upon my confused 
relation of the cruel conspiracy that led me to the 
supposition that I was forgotten, nor Harry’s 
astonishment and disclosure of letters from my 
brother during the time I was under the care of 
Mr. Duffee, intimating that I had disappeared 
clandestinely, and the fruitlessness of all efforts to 
reclaim the fallen one. 

“ It must be our last meeting,” I said, on Harry’s 
departure. 

“ Anna, are you so unkind as to forbid my vis- 
its as a friend ? Once it was not so.” 

The tears came to my eyes as I looked back 
upon the scenes conjured up by these words, my 
hour of peril on a bed of sickness, Harry’s constant 
watchfulness, my feebleness and destitution, his 
brotherly protection, and lavish bounty. 

“ O Harry, do not tempt me ! ” 

“ By Heaven, Anna, I would not lead you into 
any thing wrong.” 

“ Not intentionally, perhaps ; but dare I trust 
myself?” 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


121 


“ You may trust me, Anna. I shall see you 
again.” 

Harry was gone. If I felt lonely and unhappy 
previous to this dangerous interview, I was now 
wretched — unspeakably so! I had planted my 
pillow with thorns, and filled the breast of another 
with vain regrets, and thoughts of bitter discon- 
tent. 

11 


CHAPTER XIII. 


THE DESOLATED HOME. A DARK CHAPTER WITH 

A BRIGHT OPENING. 

My darling boy slept in his cradle-bed. I 
watched with hushed breath his dewy slumbers, 
tracing out with a mother’s chastened joy the 
features of remembered loveliness, dissolving into 
dust beneath the blossom, springing from a tiny 
grave. The spacious chamber, with its pictured 
walls and elegant appointments gleaming around 
me so cold and senseless in the days of my loneli- 
ness, had suddenly gained a warm, sunny radiance, 
and I smiled with a full heart of joy as I whispered 
softly, — 

“ Bless you, my darling ! Mamma has some- 
thing to love and live for now.” 

The sweet attractions of a fresh, new life, unfold- 
ing its blodm in our midst, won for me more of a 
husband’s society. Perhaps he found a renewed 
charm in the face from which the tears and frowns 
were once again banished. 


122 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


123 


The fearful temptation to which I had exposed 
myself by suffering Harry Lincoln to seek a solu- 
tion of the mystery that divided us, the feverish 
dream into which his visit plunged me, was gone. 
I felt secure in the path of duty, and rejoiced to 
find my affections centring more deeply within 
the charmed circle of home. 

I doubt much whether the sympathy of mothers 
can follow me in the brief rehearsal of the wretched 
history of the following year. Harry came again. 
I did not fear to welcome him now. I led him to 
the snowy couch of my tender babe, and my face 
brightened into a gladder smile, as I listened to 
the softly murmured praises of his blooming love- 
liness. 

Months flew swiftly past. The calls of business 
and pleasure kept my husband almost constantly 
from his home. 

The olden discontent did not return. My sweet 
little boy was daily increasing in beauty and inter- 
est, and, alas ! the bewildering infatuation of an 
unlawful passion was gradually wearing its mists 
about the heart I believed strong enough to resist 
whatever temptation might arise from the terms 
of friendship on which I received the visits of 
Harry Lincoln. Barnard was returning home 


124 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


earlier than usual one evening. He encountered 
Harry as he came up the street. Casting a look 
of suspicious inquiry into his face, he strode on- 
ward with accelerated footsteps. 

When he came into my presence, I was startled 
at the deathly paleness of his countenance, and the 
flashing brilliancy of his eyes fixed on me with a 
steady, piercing glance. 

“ Has that villain been here this evening ? ” burst 
from his lips. 

“ Who do you mean ? ” I asked, trembling with 
alarm to witness so much excitement in one I 
thought too heedless of wife or home to care who 
were the guests entertained by her beneath its roof. 

“Don’t mock me by questions. Answer me; 
has he been here this evening ? ” 

Partly regaining my self-possession, I replied, in 
as cool a tone as I could command, — 

“ Well, suppose he has; you choose your com- 
pany ; why may I not mine without rebuke ? ” 
This rejoinder to his maddened questioning was 
as a spark of fire to the slumbering magazine. A 
painful scene ensued. My indiscretion and im- 
propriety were manifested by intemperate language 
into sins of a deeper stain. Feelings more bitter 
than indifference and unkindness were engendered 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


125 


between us. Fierce words and mutual recrimina- 
tions followed. 

When my husband left me the next morning for 
his place of business, I turned from him with a 
frowning face and contracted brow. My heart 
was so full of bitterness that the winning smiles 
of my precious babe lost half their power to charm. 
Oh, had I but taken warning from this night of 
wretchedness, and in accordance with my hus- 
band’s wish, — rendered an absolute command by 
his indignant sense of injury, — closed the doors of 
my home to the footsteps of a dangerous visitor, I 
might have been spared the indescribable dread 
forever haunting me, lest that innocent babe, sleep- 
ing so sweetly through the angry conflict, when 
grown to manhood may be tempted to curse the 
mother that gave him birth! O God, do thou 
imbue him with a forgiving, Christ-like spirit, 

I should his eyes ever wander over these sad pages 
from my life’s fearful history ! 

; Night’s drapery was gathering about the city, 

I the stars of evening glittered through earth’s roof 
i of azure, the streets gleaming like threads of silver 
in the pure radiance of moonlight. A voice that 
had lulled me into forgetfulness of all that I ought 
11 * 


126 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


most to have remembered, was murmuring words 
of delusive sophistry in my listening ears. 

I had slighted the notes of warning, and was 
wildly rushing onward, past the boundary lines of 
honor as well as prudence, past the beacon lights 
that illumine the darkest pathway. 

I replied to the cheating melody with gay smiles 
and merry accents. I did not discern the gulf that 
suddenly yawned betwixt me and the purest joys 
of life. My fearful sin had blindfolded my vision. 
Harry left me at the corner of the street that led 
to my home. It was not safe for him to venture 
nearer. My husband had addressed a letter to 
him, forbidding his presence there ; breathing 
threatenings against his life, and, what was 
dreaded far more, a disclosure of his perfidy and 
unfaithfulness to the pure, unsuspecting wife. 

I waited a moment at the corner, until my 
guilty companion’s figure mingled with the 
shadows, and then approached my own door 
with hasty, confident footsteps. I had been absent 
since morning. Previous to my departure, I had 
assured myself that Barnard was too much en- 
gaged, for the day and evening, to adniit of any 
very close watchfulness of my movements, J 
rang the bell quickly, while a pang smote my 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


127 


heart at the thought of my protracted stay from 
my dear little Zachary. Harry had claimed the 
right of a friend to give him the name of our 
chieftain President. I wondered why my maid 
was so tardy in admitting her mistress. I gave 
the bell another and more hurried pull. Its clang- 
ing echoes ringing through the hall reached my 
ear, distant and full. Growing impatient, I threw 
a glance upward to the window of my chamber, 
where I had left little Zachary in the care of my 
faithful servant, and started to perceive that no 
lights gleamed through the richly painted curtains. 
I sought the kitchen casements below. All was 
dark and silent there. 

“ What means this delay ? ” I cried, in anger 
and alarm, as I again seized the bell-knob. “ My 
night-key ! ” I smiled to think how senseless I had 
been to stand there begging for admittance when 
I might have entered instantly and unperceived. 
The door flew open. I nearly fainted as I dis- 
covered by the flood of moonlight pouring over 
the hall floor, that both carpet and rug were gone ! 

I ran up the stairs, from which the rich tapestry 
had been torn by hurried hands, leaving the nails 
and dust scattered over the surface. A fearful, 
hollow echo from the distant apartments and 


128 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


surrounding walls answered my footsteps. My 
shaking hand clutched the door of the room, 
where laughed and crowed my beauteous boy in 
the morning sunshine. My form reeled against 
it, as it swung open with a creaking jar, revealing 
two golden bars of moonlight spanning the bare 
and dusty floor. 

Grim, shadowy forms seemed stealing forth from 
the dark corners, and the blank, dreary walls ap- 
peared closing above and about my horrified 
vision. With a shriek that awoke a legion of 
terrifying voices, I shrank away from the thresh- 
old, fled down the stairs, and, crouching close to 
the side-lights, through which the gloom-dispel- 
ling beams could fall on my pallid brow, I 
paused to regain my breath and collect my dis- 
tracted brain enough to realize the nature of the 
terrible calamity that had fallen, sudden, and un- 
expectedly as a thunderbolt from a sunny sky. 

“ My babe gone ! My home despoiled and for- 
saken ! Oh ! who has done me this treacherous 
wrong ? ” 

My voice, lifted in passionate wailing, sank 
into an agonized moan of despair, as I recalled the 
guilty scenes of the past few weeks — my own 
falseness and dishonor! The blinding veil seemed 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


129 


suddenly rent from my eyes, and I beheld myself 
in all my baseness and misery. I cowered upon the 
floor, in a strong paroxysm of shuddering agony, 
while my silken drapery gathered up the dust 
beneath my feet. 

“ O God of my mother ! I have fallen now as 
I never fell before ! Once, chained and helpless, I 
was hurled from the white summits of innocence ; 
a flaming sword, turning every way, in the hands 
of proud, merciless kindred, forbade my returning 
steps. Wandering among the dark mountains of 
sin, I stumbled upon a green vale, — a spot blest 
of heaven, — a home, where lived and breathed 
husband and child, all my own ! O mercy ! I have 
lost them, — husband, babe, home, every thing, — 
by this last, most wretched, wholly unpardonable 
fall I 

Again the echoes of my own wild voice made 
me shiver with a terror beyond my control, and, 
springing hastily to my feet, I wrenched open the 
door, rushed down the steps, and stood still and 
breathless in the broad, bright moonlight. 

A group of gay promenaders passed me. The 
silvery ring of their merry chat, and low, gleeful 
laughter, caused me to shrink away from the open 
sidewalk with a sickening heart. I clung to a 


130 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


stone pillar, beneath the shadow of a wide, gloomy 
arch. 

What was I to do ? Where spend the dreary 
hours of the night ? Pride forbade me to seek a 
shelter among passing acquaintances ; fear of 
imperiling his domestic peace deterred me from 
claiming the protection of my partner in guilt ; 
superstitious dread shut the door of my empty, 
desolated home in my face ! 

An hour sped by, while my heart and brain 
were torn with the pangs of remorse and useless 
conjecture, and then I stole into a retired lane and 
knocked humbly at the door of my poor, honest 
washer-woman. 

“ Why, Mistress Cooley ! What’s on ye, dear, 
that ye’re here at this time o’ night ? ” 

“ O good, kind Maggy, don’t ask me ! Will 
you let me in ? I’ve nowhere else to go ! ” 

The faithful creature was struck dumb by my 
distracted manner, and wild, incoherent words. 
She took my hand, and led me into her narrow, low- 
roofed, but comfortable apartment. My elegant 
bonnet and rich shawl were removed in speechless 
wonder, the dust brushed from my costly silk, 
and the little home-made lounge drawn up before 
the fire. I sank upon it, and, under the influence 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. ^ 131 

of this poor, ignorant woman’s unspoken pity, 
shed the first tears that had steeped my eyelids 
since the dreadful idea pierced my brain that my 
husband had cast me from him as a thing of guilt, 
unworthy to bear the blest names of wife and 
mother ! Oh ! did I not writhe under the con- 
sciousness that the righteous judgment of God 
had overtaken me at last? The pitiful woman 
knelt at my side; smoothed back my abundant 
tresses, broken loose from bands and combs, and 
flowing like a veil about my pale, startling features, 
murmured in low tones — “Poor, dear! what’s 
come on her now ? She was blithe as a bird yes- 
ter-night. Is the darlint dead ? or, sure, is the fine 
man distraught ? ” 

“ O Mag ! Mag ! ” I cried, as a heavier tide of 
remorse surged upward from my self-accusing 
heart ; “ don’t speak of them, or you’ll drive me 
into the streets. I cannot — I will not stay where 
the memory of those I have so bitterly wronged 
rises up to taunt me. Go, Mag, this moment, and 
get me a bottle of wine. I have known women — 
wretched women like myself — to drown all their 
griefs, for a time, in its sparkle and glow.” I 
flung my purse at Maggy’s feet. The amazed 
creature took it up sorrowfully, and securing the 


132 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


door carefully, left the house. I was afraid I 
should die, in my woe and desperation, before her 
return. I sprang up and met her at the entrance. 
I waited for no glass, but held the bottle to my 
lips and poured down the liquid fire, until my 
throat was scorched and burned, and my brain 
kindled into fourfold agony. 

I had never drank before. True, in the days 
when my feet trod the gilded halls of sin, I was 
accustomed to touch my lips to the brimming 
goblet, and then fling it with disgust into the urn 
standing ready for the purpose. This was one of 
the important parts girls were expected to play 
with shrewdness, in order to increase the sale of 
the accursed stuff which sets on fire of hell the 
passions of men. The burning draught failed to 
intoxicate me now, as ever afterwards. It did not 
drown my memory, nor deaden my perceptions. 
It imparted a certain degree of recklessness, and 
a spirit of defiance and scorn of all things past, 
present, and to come. Cold, cruel determination 
and relentless ferocity, — elements foreign to my 
nature, flashed from my eyes, rolled in scathing 
language from my lips, quick as the subtile poison 
reached my brain. 

Sleep was not a thing to be thought of on a 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


133 


night like this. I passed the hours in pacing the 
room, beating my breast, and pouring forth fierce, 
revengeful language. I was not maddened, not 
sunk into inebriation, by the dangerous draughts 
swallowed from that fatal wine-bottle ! 

12 


CHAPTER XIV. 


THE DEMON DRINK. 

“ My darling ! starvation or death may divide 
us ; a jealous husband’s arm, never ! 1 had 

summoned that powerful ally of evil deeds, — 
Alcohol, — to aid me in the enterprise of stealing 
my boy from his lawful, protector and dooming 
him to the life of exposure and wandering which 
must henceforth be mine. Its influence still fired 
my soul to an unnatural daring and defiance of 
the thousand ills staring me in the face. But for 
this artificial courage, I had fallen fainting upon 
the pavements, at the very thought of my despe- 
rate situation — a delicate woman, fi-iendless and 
homeless, straggling through the streets, with a 
helpless babe in her arms, seeking a nurse to take 
charge of it while she should engage in the almost 
hopeless task of honestly earning the money to 
pay the bill. My fashionable attire, youthful ap- 
pearance, and wild, forlorn face, were very unfa- 
vorable introductions to my errand. The door of 

134 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


135 


house after house was closed against me, while the 
inmates ran to the windows to gain another view 
of the suspicious-looking stranger. I would not 
give up my pursuit, and at length perseverance was 
crowned with success. A poor woman, in a nar- 
row, unhealthy street, consented to take the boy, on 
condition that a week’s payment should be made 
in advance. I emptied my purse of every penny, 
to satisfy her somewhat exorbitant demand, 
pressed a few tearful, passionate kisses on the 
brow of my unconscious innocent, and left him to 
seek employment. 

My mind ran over the praises and bright proph- 
ecies of my actress friend. She had long since 
floated away in her round after wealth and fame. 
There were others of the same profession, who, I 
doubted not, were endowed with like discrimina- 
tion. I sought them out, danced before them, 
implored them, for the sake of my dear darling 
boy, to give me an engagement. It was useless. 
Theatres were just then abundantly supplied with 
aU sorts of dancers. I felt like yielding to despair. 
This had been my stronghold. I flew to my newly 
discovered stimulus, and prosecuted my search for 
the remainder of the week. I continued to sleep 
at night on the little lounge before the fire, in my 


136 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


washer-woman’s humble home. I became nearly 
frantic, as the morning drew nearer and yet nearer 
when another week’s board must be paid or my 
precious boy — the only thing left me to love — 
would be given back to my arms, homeless and 
hungry, like his wretched, outcast mother ! I longed 
to gaze again upon his sweet, pure face. I would 
not believe a woman could find the heart to turn 
him away, in his infantile beauty and helplessness. 
I crept into the house of the nurse, with the first 
beams of morning. She was up, and looked upon 
me with smiles until I told her how unsuccessful I 
had been, how sad and hopeless I was growing ; 
and then a forbidding frown shut the light out 
from her countenance, a^ pointing to the bed, she 
bade me take my boy and “ be off.” 

In sorrowful, reverent silence, I approached the 
pillow where reposed the little golden head. I 
could not bear to break his soft, dewy slumbers. 
A fearful struggle was going on noiselessly in my 
breast. I had not yet taken my morning “refresh- 
ment.” “ Ma’am,” I whispered, lest my broken 
voice should disturb the lovely sleeper, “ will you 
keep him an hour longer ? I will try to get the 
money of a friend.” 

“ I don’t care if I do, only beware how you dis- 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


137 


appoint me. I am not a woman to be trifled with; 
I know the way to an almshouse ! 

Oh, how my blood boiled in my veins ! Fortu- 
nately the drink was not in me, or I fear I should 
have struck her. 

I left the house in silence, and hastened along a 
street that sickened my heart to tread. I climbed 
the steps of a lofty dwelling and gently pulled the 
door bell. It was answered by a servant. I in- 
quired for Fachel Parks. The earliness of the 
hour was hinted at as an objection to my admit- 
tance. I mentioned a name I had once worn, and 
bade the servant add “ in distress.” This proved the 
“ Open Sesame ” to the lady’s dressing-room. I 
paused upon the threshold, transfixed with admi- 
ration, as I gazed once more upon a woman as 
famous for her wondrous beauty as her unhappy 
fall from a position of the highest respectability to 
the degradation and shame of a libertine’s private 
mistress. 

Rachel begged me to be seated, as her radiant 
eyes rested pitifully on my careworn face. I shook 
my head, and drawing near her side, I told her, in 
hurried words, of the pure happiness I had tasted 
since we met ; of my miserable fall ; the consequent 
12 * 


138 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


wretchedness and destitution of myself, and, also, 
of a sweet little life so much dearer than my own. 

There were no tears in those peerless eyes as 
she listened to my bitter story ; but an expression 
of agony — so keen and hopeless that for a mo- 
ment I forgot my own woes in view of hers — 
swept her countenance as she replied, — 

“ O Anna ! let me tell you that there is no re- 
demption for such as you and I. Earth nor 
heaven can save us, or my white-haired father’s 
prayers, and the God he trusted, had saved me ! 
We are doomed from our first error to sink lower 
and lower, until we reach the depths of — hell!” 

The last word was hissed in my ear, some bills 
thrust into my hand, and the beautiful lost one 
waved her hand, exclaiming : — 

“ Leave me, poor Anna ! and never come to me 
again until you can turn your back resolutely on 
the unattainable heights of virtue. Anna, believe 
me, we are lost ! lost ! lost ! ” 

I shuddered as I went out from the presence of 
the miserable woman, and prayed that I might 
never be like her. I knew better than to envy her 
the possession of so many things of splendor and 
beauty- I felt in my soul how like barbed arrows 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


139 


they sometimes pierced her tortured brain. I little 
dreamed, then, that the hour her parting words pic- 
tured was so fearfully near! 

Two more weeks dragged wearily by. My 
money was gone. In despair, I had intrusted my 
babe to one who knew my husband’s relatives. 
I did not think she would betray me. 

It was all over. The pure little creature, who 
had held me back from the steeps of vice, was 
gone from my possession, beyond my reach, be- 
yond my hope. There' was nothing now to bind 
me. 

I repaired to the house of Rachel Parks, and 
entered her private apartments, exclaiming, in fren- 
zied accents, — 

“You were right, Rachel. We are lost! lost! 
lost ! I have come to ask you to teach me how to 
smile and be gay like you in the face of so terrible 
a reality.” 

The hardened prostitute was a little shocked, 
but she bade me welcome, and endeavored to 
soothe my stormy spirit into a calmness and con- 
tent unknown to her sin-laden breast. 

“ Anna, what are you going to do ? ” 

“ I don’t know.” 


140 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


“ Have you seen your husband since the break- 
ing up ? ” 

“ Yes, I- have frequently met him in the streets, 
but he would never speak to me. He even pre- 
tended not to see me when I walked by his side, 
imploring him, in low, frantic tones, to pronounce 
just one word of forgiveness or pity, permit me to 
look again into the face of my innocent babe, and 
I would go away out of his sight forever — I meant 
if he granted my request to put an end to my 
hateful existence by drowning. I could not plunge 
into the cold, dark waters, without one parting kiss 
from those warm, cherry lips I ” 

“ Where is Harry Lincoln ? ” 

“ O Rachel, do not mock my misery by calling 
over a name, which forgotten might have left me 
the mate of happiness ! I have destroyed myself, 
ruined my husband, disgraced my boy I Let that 
suffice. I would die sooner than bring like deso- 
lation to another hearthstone ! ” 

“ Well, well, be calm, I will not pain you. I am 
going to New York for a few days, and I was think- 
ing whether you had not best accompany me and 
remain there for a time, until the excitement of 
this little affair dies away.” 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


141 


‘‘ O, thank you, my kind Rachel ! If I could 
only leave my wretched self behind — this hated 
burden of guilt and woe ! ” 

“ Drown it in this cup of ruby wine, in lieu of 
burying your sweet self beneath the briny waves.” 

It was a forced, painful smile with which the 
beautiful woman dressed her face, as she held the 
sparkling goblet to my lips, at the close of this 
brief conversation, held in her dressing-room, on 
the third morning of my stay in her palace of 
luxury, purchased by the costliest gem in the 
crown of womanhood. To gain its tempting 
threshold, every footprint had been marked with 
blood, wrung, drop by drop, from a mother’s 
broken heart, every inch of the road leading thither 
hallowed by a gray-haired father’s tears. 


CHAPTER XV. 


GLORIFYING IN SHAME. 

Merciful God ! Have I fallen so low, or is it 
but a horrible dream ? A wife — a mother, and an 
inmate of Kate Hastings’ house of hell in the city 
of New York! 

The dwellings of my virtuous sisters and proud 
brothers, unstained by dishonor save the shadow 
of my guilt lying black and heavy across then- 
pathway, standing so near that the hushed breath 
of evening might waft my voice to their windows ! 

I will once more seek my stately, peerless sister, 
and see if she will know me now, — see if her 
superb lips can wreathe themselves into as fine a 
scorn as of old. I fancy she will find a woman to 
deal with now, instead of a timid, weeping, plead- 
ing child ! 

I glanced into the mirror before me, and laughed 
with a fiendish triumph, as my eyes lingered over 
a face I had been told was comely. I did not think 
so, but in that revengeful hour I hoped most 

142 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


143 


earnestly that my sister would be thus deluded, — a 
form tall and commanding, I had studied closely 
grace of movement and dignity of bearing, an 
attire as modest and neat as it was costly and 
elegant. 

Soliciting the company of one of the most lady- 
like of the lost ones of this doomed house, I walked 
leisurely through several streets, with the intention 
of reaching my eldest sister’s home by a circuitous 
route. On passing a cross-street, I remarked to my 
companion, — 

“ It always makes me shiver, even in the hottest 
day of summer, to glance down that street.” 

“ Pray tell me why.” 

“ Too long and too sad a story for the present 
occasion. I want all my pride and venom to carry 
me through a coming interview. I only wish I 
could learn the fate of the poor girl that, in her pity 
for a friendless stranger, introduced me for the first 
time into such a house on that street as is my only 
home and yours to-day.” 

“ What was her name ? ” was asked in a care- 
less tone. 

‘‘ Agnes Milbury.” 

My companion gave a little nervous start as she 
pursued, — 


144 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


“ Had she parents ? ” 

“ None.” 

“ No home, either ? ” 

The sad memory of the poor girl’s wrongs and 
sufferings came up vividly before my mind, and I 
replied somewhat fiercely, — 

Yes, some people, I doubt not, would call it 
home — a place where she was fed plentifully, 
clothed nicely, educated carefully, destroyed by 
her foster-father deliberately, and flung into the 
streets by an outraged wife to be trampled upon 
heedlessly ! ” 

My arm was grasped feebly, and I hastily turned 
a glance upon the swaying form at my side. I 
thought her fainting, by the hue of lip and cheek, 
but she begged me not to be alarmed, adding hur- 
riedly,— 

“ It is nothing. I shall be better soon.” 

We had now reached my sister’s door, and were 
immediately ushered into an elegant parlor, sep- 
arated from another by folding doors. 

“ Your name, madam ? ” 

“ Do not delay about a name. Tell Mrs. Well- 
man that a lady wishes to see her a moment. I 
will not detain her long.” 

I sat with my back towards the doors. I heard 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


145 


them unclose, a soft tread, a rustle of drapery, and 
Maria stood before me I 

I always knew my sister was beautiful, but 
never in her life did she seem one-half so lovely to 
me as now! I had met women with brows as 
smooth and fair, eyes as lustrous and beaming, 
lips as ripe and melting; but I had now learned to 
define in what the singular charm of her loveliness 
consisted. It was in its exceeding clearness and 
purity. Oh, how my soul bowed down in silent 
worship before this being, invested with a majesty 
so radiant, gone from me forever! I dwell an 
instant upon the feelings with which my sister’s 
pure presence inspired me, because it is thought by 
many that frail women, in losing themselves, lose 
all reverence and love of virtue. 

“ Anna ! can this be you ? ” 

‘‘ Your own sister, Maria ! ” 

I forgot for the moment the madness that sent 
me here, and rising made one step towards Maria’s 
half-extended arms. I retreated as quickly when 
my thoughts returned. 

My sudden appearance was too much for my 
sister’s stately calmness. She sank into a seat, 
and, faintly beckoning me to her side, asked kindly 
13 


146 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


but tremulously after my health, place of resi- 
dence, and present condition. 

I had fully recovered my self-possession, and re- 
plied without hesitancy, that I was married to a 
worthy man was the happy mother of a fine 
boy, lived in Boston, and was at present spend- 
ing a few days with some friends in New York 
city. 

Maria believed and trusted me. She seemed 
rejoiced to meet me under so favorable circum- 
stances. 

I was completely conquered by her sweet and 
gentle manners. I would not, to have saved my 
life, have unveiled the dark secrets of my history 
to her trustful gaze. I wanted to escape from her 
pure, searching eyes. She urged a longer stay. I 
plead the necessity of returning to my home in 
the morning train. I broke from her tender part- 
ing embrace, and hurried into the street. I could 
not refrain from weeping with my companion, 
who was deeply affected by the interview. How 
different had been the meeting and parting, from 
the bitter scene I had anticipated ! Kindness melts 
the stoniest heart. On the subsequent evening, 
there were at least two hearts beating heavily and 
painfully beneath the folds of brocade and lace — 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


147 


two forms moving sadly and listlessly through the 
brilliantly illuminated parlors of the notorious 
Kate Hastings. There was an unwonted hollow- 
ness in the words of flattery — in the sounds of 
mirth. The glimpse gained into a home where 
woman was respected, beloved, and stainless, filled 
two souls with a bitter loathing of the indeserib- 
able, inconceivable horrors of a life of prostitu- 
tion ! My companion of the afternoon visit, and 
the almost interminable evening hours, stole to my 
side before we parted for the night, and whispered 
in my ear, — 

“ Anna, would you know why the name of 
Agnes Milbury moved me so fearfully to-day ? ” 
“Yes ; tell me ! ” I responded with strongly ex- 
cited curiosity. 

“ There was a time when Agnes and I sat at 
the same table, shared the same room, and loved 
each other like sisters.’’ 

“ Possible ! Were you related ? ” 

“ What I said is true, Anna, but no tie of kin- 
dred existed between us.” 

“ How then did you chance to be so intimate ? ” 
A crimson stain shone through the painted 
cheek, as the low reply was hissed into my ear : 


148 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


“ Agnes Milbury was my father’s adopted child — 
my father’s victim ! ” 

After a momentary pause, which I did not feel 
inclined to break, she added, — 

“ O Anna ! is she not terribly avenged in the fall 
of his own proud daughter? My hard, strong, cold 
mother did not imagine, when she was shutting 
the door in the face of the poor, wronged girl, that 
her only child, on whom she had lavished every ad- 
vantage that money could purchase, was doubly 
sinful. I had been absent from home one year, 
and during that time — O Anna! spare me the 
narration — I am guilty — I feel it — I should 
glory in it, for aught I know, if memory had only 
expired with my innocence ! ” 

I was astonished to witness such a display of 
defiant, torturing remorse, in one usually so gay 
and smiling. Raising her head from the arm of 
the sofa, where it was bowed for a second to 
conceal her frenzied face, she added, with a dread 
solemnity, — 

“ O Anna! when I think of my father — that girl 
— my Own career — it has been awful — I some- 
times fear that there is indeed a God in heaven, 
who visits the sins of parents upon their children!” 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


149 


1 shuddered, and hastened away from the sound 
of these harrowing words, conjuring up pictures I 
had shut out from my soul. I could not succeed 
now in barring the door against one — it would 
come — a babe’s pure face ! 

Though sweet to my eye, and dear to my heart, 
it was powerless to save me from my bitter 
destiny. Once, a word might have restored me ; 
now, I was ready to echo the language of Rachel 
Parks : “ Earth nor heaven can save us ! ” 

13 * 


CHAPTER XVI. 


HORROR IN THE PATH OF CRIME. 

Two years of crime and dissipation unrelieved 
by a single ray of brightness had gone since I 
gazed on the face of my child. In moments when 
I chanced to be free from the delirium of the wine- 
cup, my heart, still clinging to its human affections 
through all the corruption and depravity of my 
life, yearned for the only treasure I dared to call 
mine I I had spent these years alternately in Bos- 
ton and New York, sometimes passing a few 
weeks with the beautiful Rachel Parks, in her 
guilty retirement, sometimes floating about from 
one to another of the numerous whitewashed 
sepulchres of the living lost that pollute the moral 
atmosphere of the Empire city. I reached the 
house of my friend late one evening, after an ab- 
sence of several months. Rachel’s chambermaid 
informed me that her mistress was in the country ; 
that news had just been received of her danger- 
ous illness. 


150 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


151 


The sad intelligence threw me into the deepest 
anxiety and alarm. I was strongly attached to 
the unhappy woman ; had gazed with awe into 
an inner chamber of her heart, still sacred to the 
memory of home and innocence ; knew how, at 
times, her soul was filled with loathing of her pres- 
ent life of shame and despair, as her thoughts 
wandered out into the dark, dreadful future I 

I knew I was welcome in this home, and 
resolved to await here further tidings of its mis- 
tress. Every day brought a more brief and hope- 
less account, and, on the eighth morning, all that 
remained of the matchless piece of human sculp- 
ture known as Rachel Parks, was laid away to 
slumber undisturbed in a little country church- 
yard, until the dawn of that day when every 
hidden thing shall be revealed in the light of 
eternity I 

Constant delirium had concealed the approach- 
ing catastrophe from the wretched sufferer. A 
few moments before the last breath crossed her 
ashen lips, she sprang up in bed, and gazing fran- 
tically into the fear-stricken face§ bending above 
her, repeated the words that so frequently fell from 
her tongue during hours of depression, in tones of 
thrilling agony — “ lost ! lost ! lost ! ” 


152 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


I was SO inexpressibly shocked by the relation of 
this agonizing scene, — her early, sudden death, — 
that I determined, if possible, to break off from a 
course which led to so awful an end. I sought 
my husband. He spoke to me now. It was with 
a sadness that revealed a sick, wearied heart. 1 
felt truly penitent, in view of the grief and shame 
I had brought upon a man who, whatever his 
errors might have been, I no longer doubted had 
loved me well. I asked him to take me back to 
his heart, restore me to my child, and I would 
try to be faithful to the duties of home, and eii- 
deavor, with all my might, to break the chains of 
intemperance that I felt were gathering closer and 
closer about me. 

My prayer was granted, a pleasant dwelling 
secured, and my precious boy, now three years 
old, placed again beneath a mother’s care. There 
came a bright dream of peace to my troubled 
spirit. Alas, it was but a dream ! — as delusive 
and fleeting. How could it be otherwise ? Re- 
proaches of the desecrated past were always 
ready to spring to a husband’s unguarded lips ; the 
exciting wine-cup forever near to allure the weak, 
tempted one to a“ single drop more,” until fierce, 
defiant language took the place of patient, loving 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


153 


accents, and the peaceful fireside became a fitting 
abode for maddened fiends. 

Neither Barnard nor myself could endure such 
a life. Apart, we had been discontented, lonely, 
and restless ; together, we found ourselves suspi- 
cious, quarrelsome, and revengeful. 

My health now began to fail, and I was haunted 
with the fear that a death, like that which had 
stricken down my friend at the noonday of life, 
awaited me. 

Through all my wanderings, and in the depths 
of my degradation, I had always cherished the 
fallacious belief, in accordance with the faith in 
which I was trained, that my mother still inter- 
ceded at the throne of God in my behalf, and that, 
before I was suffered to die, I should be forgiven, 
and after death rejoin her in Paradise. This hope, 
so consoling, seemed now deserting me. I had 
lost all of earth, and I trembled lest I should lose 
heaven also ! 

After much conflict of mind, and under increas- 
ing physical infirmity, I formed a resolution to re- 
turn to my relatives, confess my sins, and beg them 
to place me in the convent, where I could pass the 
remainder of my days in penance and prayer. 

I informed my husband of my new determina- 


154 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


tion. He did not oppose me ; though I was sure 
the thought of parting with me again pained him. 
He could not but concur with me in the opinion 
that my case seemed utterly hopeless. My arrange- 
ments were made with the dispatch of one who 
feels that few moments remain for the much that 
is to be done. 

I wept over my boy such tears as moisten the 
faces of the dead. My husband accompanied me 
in the cars as far as Providence, where I was to 
take the boat for Fall River. I stood upon deck, 
with hands folded across my breast, gazing at the 
familiar form lingering near the wharf, murmuring 
in low, wailing tones, — “Barnard! Barnard! good- 
by ! good-by, forever ! 

When the shore had faded into dimness, I 
turned and fled to my state-room, buried my face 
in the pillows of my couch, and suffered all the 
desolateness of a wasted, ruined life to sweep over 
me. 

As the distance gradually lessened between me 
and my kindred, the olden dread of the silence and 
gloom of a convent’s walls overshadowed my soul. 

“ Worse than death! ” I would repeat, over and 
over, as I wrung my hands and paced the nar- 
row limits of my state-room, in deep, unutterable 
despair. 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


155 


I shrank from a disclosure of my guilt-stained 
history to my harsh brothers. I could not bear the 
thought of undeceiving my elder sister, who had 
received me so kindly when she believed me to be 
an honored wife and faithful mother. I had volun- 
tarily broken away from husband and child, and 
dared not retrace my steps. Neither did I wish it. 

As the solitary hours wore away, I sank into the 
deepest dejection. I had feared death because of 
my unfitness for the mansions of bliss, where my 
mother dwelt ; but now I regarded the expectation 
or hope of any change in me for the better, as 
vain. I felt certain that my doom was fixed for 
wretchedness here and torment hereafter. The 
sooner I went out from life, and was forgotten, the 
sooner a weary weight of shame and mortification 
would be removed from brother, sister, husband, 
child. Such was the mad reasoning that led me 
from my state-room to the open deck. I ap- 
proached the railing and leaning over looked wist- 
fully down into the foaming track of the proud 
steamer. 

I never longed to rest my head when weary 
upon a downy pillow, as I now longed to bury my 
vile person beneath those waves of sparkling 
purity. I threw a hurried glance about me, made 


156 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


a sudden bound, and the next instant found my- 
self suspended, by the folds of my dress, against 
the vessel’s side. I heard a sharp, loud cry, and 
was aware of an effort being made to rescue me 
from my perilous situation. I struggled violently. 
My drapery gave way, and my form went down, 
down into the midst of the seething billows. ‘ I 
felt a slight blow upon my head. I was perfectly 
conscious, and thought the wheel must have 
struck me as it rolled past. 

The confused voices and repeated cries of, “ A 
woman overboard ! ” reached my ears. I fancied 
that 1 saw the steamer as she swept onward in her 
hurried course. 

How long those moments seemed ! I wondered 
that I did not drown and lose my hated conscious- 
ness, forget the terrible array of evil deeds crowd- 
ing my memory in the oblivion I coveted. How 
I prayed that I might never wake; that death 
might prove to me a dreamless, unwaking slumber ! 

The last sound that came to my ear, deadened 
by the cold plash of the waves, was a cry sped 
through a trumpet from the steamer to a fishing 
smack, that seemed to my failing vision far, far 
away. It was a relief to deem succor impossible ! 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


157 


The last thought that disturbed my brain, was the 
memory of my mother’s dying prayer ! 

*♦**##* 
A faint shiver ran through veins that seemed 
filled with ice. I felt the pressure of a warm, soft 
hand on my brow, heard the indistinct murmur of 
unfamiliar and apparently distant voices. 

My eyelids flew open, and I distinguished forms 
bending by my side, moving rapidly between me 
and the light. All grew dark again. 

A glad exclamation ! — “ She lives ! ” gave me a 
thrilling start, and a woman’s face beamed out 
from the mist that enveloped my vision. There 
was tender pity in the eyes, a smile of joy upon 
the lips. Other countenances shone around me. 
All were strange, but kind and merciful. Anxiety 
nor memory disturbed me. I sank into slumber, 
without a recollection of the perilous scene through 
which I had passed. I was awakened at inter- 
vals, and my lips were moistened by a pleasant 
liquid. How long my heavy sleep continued I 
cannot tell ; but I know it was broken most 
strangely. Tender kisses pressed my brow, and a 
few large drops, like tears, fell on my face. I 
opened my eyes, and the tear-stained, smiling 
countenance of my husband met my gaze! “Bar- 
14 


158 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


nard!” It was a cry of welcome and love. I 
raised my arms feebly, and was clasped fondly to 
a quickly beating heart. I remembered it all now, 
— the sad parting, deemed by us both eternal ; the 
lonely passage ; the desperate plunge ; the chilling 
waves ; the dying prayer ! 

I was not permitted to ask many questions, as 
for hours I had quivered on the outmost bound of 
life. I listened with a quiet, dreamy happiness to 
the subdued voice of my husband, as he recounted 
the extraordinary exertions made for my rescue ; 
how, when all hope seemed gone, and the kind 
fishermen were gazing sadly upon the spot where 
they believed I had sunk to rise no more, the float- 
ing tresses of my abundant hair appeared above 
the waves, were grasped by an intrepid sailor, and 
my drenched, lifeless form lifted tenderly into the 
boat. The nearest landing had been speedily 
sought, and hospitable strangers opened their 
doors to the wretched unknown, so weary of life’s 
burden. 

One, a passenger bound for New York like 
myself, chanced to know my husband, had wit- 
nessed our parting, and conjectured that I was his 
wife. He instantly telegraphed the sad intelli- 
gence to Boston. No expectations were yet enter- 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


159 


tained of my recovery. The dispatch was for- 
warded at once, and Barnard had come with a 
heavy heart to bear home the corse of a suicide ! 

To find a living wife was beyond his hope; to 
be welcomed with childlike fondness — bliss I 

My heart must have been cold indeed to have 
resisted the tenderness and watchful care that 
guarded me through that hour of danger. 

Three days after his arrival, I was able to sit up, 
supported by cushions. Barnard stood by my side. 
My head reclined upon his arm. 

“ Anna,” said he, “ I did not know how dear you 
were or I should not have let you go from me. 
When you are home once more I shall keep you.” 

“ And not reproach me with the past ? ” 

“ Never ! ” 

“ Then, my dear husband, we will be happy yet, 
if — oh, if I can find strength to resist the wine- 
cup ! ” 

“ With pure resolves like these, we gathered up 
again the broken threads of our domestic life. I 
was conveyed back to Boston, and though many 
weeks flitted past before I stole, weak and ema- 
ciated, from a sick chamber, and months rolled by 
ere I recrossed the threshold of home, my poor sin- 
sick, earth-worn spirit tasted a quiet more like hap- 


160 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


piness than I had known since my childhood days. 
The continued tenderness of my husband nourished 
in my bosom the enkindled sparks of a true affec- 
tion. I learned to appreciate a regard that could 
outlast such proofs of unworthiness. I knew it 
inspired me to the strongest efforts which can be 
made without the sustaining grace of God to re- 
deem myself from the slavery of vice. 

With my little son at my side, I now passed the 
peaceful hours in my pretty rooms at a fashionable 
boarding-house, walked forth in the cheerful streets, 
or rode miles away into the beautiful country, 
while my husband pursued his daily avocations. 
Our evenings were usually spent together in har- 
monious conversation, copiously intermingled with 
expressions of delighted admiration of the unfold- 
ing graces of the bright-eyed darling in our midst. 
No shadow of the painful events which were so 
soon to bring desolation to our fireside reached my 
trusting heart. For the sake of another most dear 
to me, I would fain pass over the opening scene 
of the succeeding chapter, — I can only say, with- 
out it my story would be strangely defective, — my 
next step, a slander upon my sex, an outrage 
against womanhood ! 


CHAPTER XVIL 


THE HAND OF JUSTICE. 

“ Mrs. Cooley, look here.” 

It was the excited voice of my landlady, stand- 
ing near a front window, gazing eagerly into the 
street. I arose and hastened to her side. 

“ There, see, the lady with a silk hat and velvet 
mantle.” 

“ Certainly, I see her, but do not perceive any 
singularity about her appearance. Who and what 
is she ? ” 

“ Ah, you don’t know her then ? ” was the sur- 
prised rejoinder, as a significant smile crossed the 
face raised to mine, suddenly overspread with an 
indefinable anxiety. 

“ Know her I What is she to me ? Explain 
yourself.” 

“ Perhaps your husband might inform you. 
Suppose you ask him on his return.” 

I felt the blood forsaking my lips, and curdling 
about my heart, as the woman’s meaning flashed 
14 * 161 


162 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


into my mind. I turned from the window in 
silence, and flung myself into the chair from which 
1 had risen. My boy put up his pretty arms, and 
his rosy cheek pressed my brow. I snatched him 
to my bosom, and flew up the stairs to my own 
suite of rooms. 

What magician had stolen in during my absence 
and dashed out all the brightness and beauty ? I 
did not cry nor rave as of old, when some unex- 
pected blow fell upon my unfortunate head. I 
was calm and frozen, stunned, perhaps, by the sud- 
denness of the shock that shivered the “ rock of my 
hopes.” 

My landlady followed me. She was sorry for 
the unhappy allusion. I bade her sit down and tell 
me all, without reserve. She obeyed. 

It seemed that an intimacy had existed between 
my husband and the stranger pointed out to me, 
during the two years of my absence in New York 
and elsewhere. It had been broken off on my return. 
It was supposed to be final, but a person in whom 
she could confide had seen them walking and 
riding together within a few weeks. She had 
thought I ought to know it, and had taken this 
method to convey a gentle hint. She left me, 
hoping no unhappiness would result from her in- 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


163 


timation. I could make a note of it, and watch 
the progress of the flirtation. My landlady did 
not know me. I did not know myself. I had 
married Barnard Cooley fully understanding him 
to be what is sometimes termed a “ blaze man of 
the world;” he had married me with the knowledge 
that I had been a “ girl of the town.” I had 
proved false to those solemn vows ; probably he had 
been equally perfidious ; — of that I knew not nor 
cared. I did not love him, or understand his affec- 
tion for me. I had told him so when he urged 
our marriage. It had been rung occasionally in 
his ears afterwards. 

Now it was different. By gentleness, patience, 
and trust, he had won my tenderest affections. I 
dwelt upon the months of my delusive happi- 
ness — the overwhelming discovery of his faith- 
lessness, until I became frantic with rage and jeal- 
ousy ! 

To one who has wandered far down the broad 
road of ruin, it is but a single step backward ; and 
aU that has been gained is lost, unless restrained 
by more than human power! Tortured by the 
cruel passion that had taken possession of my 
soul, maddened by the repeated glasses of wine 
swallowed recklessly during the long afternoon, I 


164 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


greeted my husband, on his late arrival, with burn- 
ing reproaches and wild threats of the vengeance I 
would visit on the head of his paramour when her 
residence was discovered. The wretched scenes 
of the few succeeding weeks press painfully but 
indistinctly upon my memory. A neglected child 
at home ; a jealous wife enraged by strong drink, 
wandering about in search of one insanely re- 
garded as the murderess of her peace ; inter- 
views when fierce, scorching language profaned 
lips hallowed by a sainted mother’s dying kiss — 
when wild, wrathful hands were lifted against a 
sinning sister-woman ! 

These revolting spectacles — over which I shall 
suffer the curtain to drop — were ended. I stood 
in a court-room listening confusedly to the reading 
of a charge of drunkenness. I felt as if some one 
was waking me from an exciting dream, when the 
clerk repeated the question — “ Guilty or not 
guilty ? ” The eyes of the court were upon me, 
and I was constrained to cry out passionately — 
“ Guilty ! oh, yes ; it is but too true ! ” I heard the 
sentence — “ Five months at Deer Island ! ” How 
it crushed my pride ! Had it been death, instead 
of this degrading confinement, I could have blessed 
the kind-hearted old judge. It was not the first 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


165 


time, in these miserable weeks of dissipation and 
madness, that I had sat in the prisoner’s seat. I 
knew fall well there was no hope for me now! 
A sort of stupor crept over me, from which I did 
not entirely merge until a night of sleep upon the 
Island had dissipated the fumes of drink from my 
brain. Every thing seemed so still and quiet, 
the officers and attendants so mild and consid- 
erate, that a strange sense of rest and relief stole 
into my passion-tossed bosom. But for the mem- 
ory of my brothers and sisters, from whose con- 
dition in life I had fallen to this low estate, the 
innocent boy who must bear this disgrace down 
to his grave, — I might have been resigned ; — 
happiness was a meteor that no longer cheated 
my fancy. I felt as completely severed from the 
world of humanity by the ocean waving and roar- 
ing so grandly about me, as if the river of death 
rolled between us. Could I but stay, and never 
be forced to encounter the sneers of my acquaint- 
ances, the cold scorn of strangers to whom the 
wretched convict would be occasionally pointed 
out, — I thought peace might visit me even here. 
That any one whom I knew would seek me in 
this abode of criminals, never disturbed the deep- 
ening quiet of my soul. Two months from the 


166 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


morning that I first stepped upon the wharf, and 
walked sadly up to the prison, I was looking forth 
from one of the upper windows. It commanded 
a view so enchanting that the darkening shadows 
were lifted from my heart, leaving it glowing with 
the silent worship of the beautiful, as in earlier 
and purer days. Two approaching figures at- 
tracted my attention ; one carried a little boy in 
his arms. I gazed spell-bound. That velvet cap 
with the drooping tassels, those gracefully fitting 
garments, glossy boots — how familiar seemed 
every article about the sweet child! My eyes fell 
on the form and face of the man bearing him so 
tenderly. 

“ My husband and boy ! ” I should have flown 
to meet them, but my trembling limbs refused to 
obey my impatient heart. I was so overcome by 
this surprising evidence of constancy, that for the 
first time I suffered a pang of condemnation for 
my frenzied jealousy and cruel pursuit after re- 
venge. Barnard manifested a sad joy on meeting 
me, and my child clung around my neck in trans- 
port. Some tears were shed during the interview, 
and we parted with less bitter feelings, for the 
kind, merciful words spoken. 

A few days afterwards I received an intimation 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


1G7 


that my husband was getting up a petition for my 
pardon. I longed to be with my child again, but 
I so dreaded the scornful faces that must be met, 
that I doubt whether I should have left the Isl- 
and willingly, but for an awful death-bed scene 
transpiring in one of the wards during the week 
following the visit of my husband and child. 

A poor girl afflicted with the most loathsome 
of all diseases that human flesh is heir to, was 
picked up by a police man in North Street, from 
the icy pavements, where her brutal companions 
had thrown her to die, and sent down to the Isl- 
and. According to the custom of this excellent 
institution, she was taken to the bath-room, and 
from thence to one of the wards. I was standing 
near when she was brought in and laid upon a 
bed. Her features were convulsed with anguish, 
and as her eyes fell on me, she made an ineffect- 
ual effort to speak. My heart was touched with 
deep pity for her misery, and I begged the privi- 
lege of remaining as a watcher by her pillow. 
So bruised and disfigured was her countenance, 
that it pained me to look upon her, and yet I 
could not be persuaded to leave her a moment. 
It was evident that life was ebbing out slowly, 
feebly. The blood-shot eyes were raised to mine 


168 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


in mute supplication, my hand seized in silence 
and brought to her lips, and then folded closely 
upon her faintly-pulsating heart. Oh ! if I had only 
known then how to cry to God in the name of his 
Son Christ, instead of counting my beads and 
calling over the appellations of all the saints in 
the calendar, — who can say but that the poor, des- 
pairing sinner might have gazed on her Lord, 
even at that late hour, like the dying thief upon 
the cross? Alas, I was groping in a darkness 
dense as the gloom settling down upon the expir- 
ing embers of a life red with guilt, blackened by 
pollution ! 

The sun had sunk behind the western wave, and 
twilight was weaving the last threads of daylight 
into a misty veil about the face of the dying girl. 
My hand, still lying upon her breast, was spas- 
modically grasped by the attenuated fingers, and 
lips and eyes unclosed. A look of fearful intensity 
shot forth through the gathering gloom, a voice 
broken by the surges of the dark flood smote my 
reclining ear. 

“ My curses on -you, O Ann Street ! Curses, 
curses on you, O human devils that lured me there! 
A father’s and a mother’s curses are enough for 
you, O cruel deceiver that dragged their idol from 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


169 


the paradise of home ! Home ! home ! must I die 
without beholding you ? ” 

The lips were still. I thought the heart beneath 
my outspread palm silenced forever. A creeping 
horror that no language can paint held me motion- 
less, speechless ! There was a sudden heaving of 
the bosom, another flash of light from the glazing 
orbs, a rapid moving of the lips. I bent over the 
pillow, laid my cheek upon the brow damp with 
the cold dews of death. 

“ Anna ! 

I started, and a superstitious chill ran through 
my veins at the ready pronunciation of my name. 
I knew no one had spoken it beside this couch. I 
listened intently. The murmuring cadence died 
away. 

Heart and pulse were yet beating their solemn 
marches. Breathing slowly and distinctly close 
to the ear, I said, — 

‘‘ Poor, dying creature! you know me, but I can- 
not remember you. Will you just speak your 
name ? ” 

Minutes passed and there was no reponse. The 
secret^'my heart yearned so strangely to know must 
be buried with her, was my mournful conclusion. 
I perceived the lips again moving. I bent my ear 
15 


170 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


close, close to the fleeting breath. A name was 
articulated in syllables that sent me from that bed- 
side with a reeling brain and throbbing heart that 
clenched hands and tightly closed mouth could 
neither balance nor smother. “ Nelly Mercer ! 
My God ! can it be that one so bright, loving, 
and gentle, has come down to a death so dark, un- 
heeded, and terrible ? ’’ 

An hour later the dreadful conflict was past. 
Other hands closed the glazed eyes, straightened 
the convulsed limbs, and dressed the mass of putre- 
faction for burial. I gazed once more upon the 
pale, distorted features that a mother’s eye would 
have failed to recognize as the sweet lineaments of 
the idol of her age, as she was borne out towards 
the spot of her last slumber. I shook with mortal 
fear as the thought swept my brain. How dread- 
ful it would be for me to be carried out thus ! It 
lies, nevertheless, in the very path I have been 
treading longer than this wretched one summoned 
to her final account. Is there no hope of escape ? 


CHAPTER XVIIL 


THE LAST STAGE REFUGE FAILED ME NONE 

CARED FOR MY SOUL. 

“ Pardoned out; ” rang strangely in my ears. I 
knew I ought to be grateful to my husband, and 
the humane individuals through whose efforts my 
term of imprisonment had been shortened three 
whole months. I could not feel glad. A public 
disgrace was stamped upon me, and I dreaded to 
be seen by my acquaintances — some of them 
perhaps no less guilty, but more successful in hid- 
ing themselves from the eye of justice. 

Barnard was waiting to convey me home. I 
looked around sadly upon the unfortunate women 
and girls in the sewing-room, over whose tasks I 
had been suffered to preside the last few weeks. 
I had learned many private histories, and knew how 
heavy and sorrowful were some of the heart’s beat- 
ing against the coarse prison garb. I saw the 
tears starting in the eyes turned upon me for a 
parting glance, and a pang of painful regret smote 

171 


172 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


me. My hands became hesitating in their move- 
ments, my mind grew busy over the possibility of a 
longer stay in a place where the smile of gratitude, 
the tear of affection, shone upon me ; where I was 
debarred from temptation, and concealed from the 
eye of cold pity, the finger of cruel scorn. 

I was about to suspend my arrangements, seek 
the officers of the institution, and present a plea 
for the remainder of my term, when the terrific vis- 
age of Nelly Mercer, the fearful ring of her dying 
curses, rushed back upon my memory. Shudder- 
ing with horror, I pronounced a few hurried words 
of adieu, and with accelerated footsteps descended 
the stairs. I listened to the pleasant greeting of 
my husband, the kind advice and good wishes 
of the worthy doctor, and begged to be conducted 
to the little steamer in waiting for the discharged 
prisoners. 

“ Barnard, where are you going to take me ? 
asked, after obtaining a seat in the boat. 

“ To my mother, in Roxbury, if that pleases 
you.’' 

“ Oh, I don’t know how to meet her! but per- 
haps it will be easier than to encounter the scorn- 
ful faces of neighbors and acquaintances in our 
old home. I only wish you would drown me be- 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


173 


fore the boat reaches the city, that I might have a 
chance of being forgotten before our little son is 
old enough to blush for a mother’s shame ! ” 

“ Don’t talk so, Anna ; if you could only leave 
off drinking, you would do well enough.” 

“ Yes, but you know I can’t do that. I don’t 
love it ; no, I hate it ; but the past comes up to 
taunt me ; and if I did not drink, I should go 
mad.” 

“ Anna, you are mad the instant liquor touches 
your lips.” 

“ Yes ; but it is a madness that swallows up all 
other madness, and laughs in the very face of 
destruction.” 

The Boston wharf was gained. We entered a 
carriage, and were soon in the quiet little home 
of my husband’s mother. I avoided all eyes, and 
lived entirely secluded from society. In the ab- 
sence of the demon drink, I was retiring in my 
manners, and never courted observation. 

I grew impatient, discontented, and wretched. 
I began to feel that death would be preferable to a 
life so barren of events, so crowded to overflowing 
with maddening thoughts ! 

A young lady, a former acquaintance, sought 
me out, and, on finding me so dejected and hope- 
15 * 


174 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


less, proposed that I should join her in an excur- 
sion to Providence. I hailed the opportunity with 
delight. I could mingle again in society that in- 
vited forgetfulness, without the danger of meeting 
those who knew of my late disgrace. Neither per- 
suasion nor opposition could deter me from my 
suddenly formed purpose. I left my home, and, 
accompanied by my friend, started for Providence. 
A lively circle of acquaintances greeted my com- 
panion at the end of the route. During the first 
evening passed among these giddy revellers, the 
wine-cup was held to my lips. I tasted. Home, 
husband, child, the fearful visitation of God at the 
Deer Island prison, — aU were forgotten in the 
whirlpool of sin and dissipation into whieh I 
madly plunged. 

Dancing halls — places I had ever scorned as 
too low and common for one like me — became 
my home for a time, and then, descending with 
awful rapidity the downward scale, before two 
brief years were gone, I found myself in New 
York, friendless, shelterless, and penniless ! 

Creeping stealthily along in the shadows, dart- 
ing swiftly past the brilliant lamps, muffied in a 
highland plaid, I pursued my erratic course through 
the streets, towards the handsome dwelling whejue 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


175 


1 had appeared before my sister, wearing a char- 
acter to which I held no legitimate claim. My 
feet were climbing the lofty steps with an uncer- 
tain tread, when I perceived a man standing before 
the door, apparently waiting for admittance. He 
turned and looked at me. The glare of light from 
a lamp directly opposite falling on his face, re- 
vealed the well-remembered features of Mr. Duffee, 
the keeper appointed over me by my brother, in 
the prosecution of his treacherous scheme of cut- 
ting me off from all human love and sympathy. 
I had grown bold, reckless, and daring, since that 
period, seeming so far distant from the mountain 
of crime lying between. I advanced and addressed 
him sarcastically, — 

‘‘ How do you do, Mr. Duffee ? I believe 1 
‘have the pleasure of recognizing you as a brother. 
Had you not a sister some years ago, who felt 
-somewhat'reluctant to wear your name ? ’’ 

“ Anna ! for Heaven’s sake, is this you ? Are 
you mad or drunk ? ” 

— I exclaimed, with an unnatural laugh, 
— ^‘to answer your last question first; and, in reply 
to your exceedingly cordial greeting, I have the 
honor to be myself, sir ! ” 

Farther conversation was interrupted by the ap- 


176 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


pearance of a servant. The gentleman looked 
rather confused, and dispatched the girl for her 
mistress. I followed him across the threshold 
without a bidding, and awaited my sister’s coming 
in silence. I heard footsteps approaching, and 
presently Maria appeared. She walked hastily 
towards my old acquaintance, and, to my aston- 
ishment, addressed him by the endearing title of 
husband. ' 

“ Ah ! ” I cried ; “ so it was a not a lie after all. 
Mr. Duffee, I am happy to know you as my 
brother in reality ; the fancy was sad enough.” 

Maria had not noticed me until my defiant voice 
broke forth. Starting, and gi-owing very pale, 
she fixed her piercing eyes on my face, permitted 
a searching glance to dart over my cheap calico 
dress, half concealed by the coarse, faded shawl, 
and fell helpless into her husband’s arms. She re- 
tained sufficient vitality, however, to give orders for 
me to be taken into a retired room, and locked up, 
that the knowledge of my existence might not 
disgrace her in the eyes of her guests and servants. 

Maria came to me when all had retired, and the 
house became silent as the grave. Her beautiful 
face was disfigured by rage, and from her finely 
chiselled lips fell the hottest invectives that ever 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


177 


scorched the ears of a poor, friendless wretch, with 
nowhere to go ! Her pride was so great, her dread 
of the opinions of others so controlling, that she 
threatened to kill me if I ever addressed a word to 
her husband, or came near her abode in my present 
miserable condition. I went away satisfied. An 
insane, wicked desire to shame my sister’s proud 
heart, impelled me to seek her presence. 

A few more days and nights of madness and 
woe, and I was discovered lying insensible upon 
the sidewalk, and taken to a city hospital. A 
severe fit of sickness was the consequence of this 
exposure. During this period of suffering I was 
visited by the “ Sisters of Charity.” They min- 
istered to my wants, and recited over me the 
prayers of the Catholic church. I remember their 
deeds of benevolence with gratitude, their recita- 
tions as harmonious and beautiful ; but in their 
conversations with me about my lost state, they 
directed my mind to a more reverent contempla- 
tion of the bones of saints, than the wounded sides 
and feet of the blessed Saviour ; placed more em- 
phasis on the infliction of pangs upon the mortal 
frame for the removal of my stains, than the faith 
that makes the sinner whole. One day, while 
lying upon my couch, I perceived a tall, stately 


178 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


woman approaching me, with her face studiously 
concealed behind a thick veil. As she drew near, 
and uncovered her brow, I discovered her to be my 
sister Maria. Through my charitable visitants she 
had learned of my forlorn situation. She was 
moved to tears of pity as she gazed upon me, and 
saw the traces of mental sufferings. From this 
time I was visited daily, and, when I was able to 
leave the hospital, Maria came in a carriage and 
conveyed me to her home. 

Again the subject of the nunnery was introduced. 
I expressed myself perfectly submissive to their 
will. I told them I had lost all, and was utterly 
indifferent in regard to my earthly fate. 

This state of mind seemed highly satisfactory, 
and immediate preparations were made in antici- 
pation of the period when I should renounce the 
world and enter upon my noviciate. I looked 
forward to the convent as my certain destination 
without a sigh or regret, until one evening as we 
sat together in the parlor the conversation turned 
upon my husband and child, Mr. Wellman drew 
his chair near mine, and fixing his eyes on my face 
as if to read my heart, proposed the following ques- 
tions, to which I replied in the subjoined monosyl- 
lables. 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


179 


“ Anna, have you truly a husband in Boston ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Does he love you ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Would he receive you as a wife should you 
return ? ” 

« Yes.” 

“ Suppose we engage a passage for you to Bos- 
ton, will you go to him ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

My sister lifted her fine eyes in undisguised 
astonishment at the apparent wavering of her hus- 
band’s purpose in regard to the disposition of one 
whose liberty seemed so dangerous to her respect- 
ability. Mr. Wellman gave her an expressive 
glance, and instantly changed the topic for one 
more harmonious. 

Early the following day, I was requested to 
array myself in a plain travelling suit finished the 
preceding afternoon, and to accompany my sister 
and her husband on a short ride. I obeyed, ex- 
pecting, in accordance with former arrangements, 
to be taken to the convent. I was somewhat sur- 
prised, and I believe a little disappointed, to 
perceive that the carriage was rapidly nearing a 
wharf. 


180 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


Mr. Wellman conducted his wife and myself on 
board the boat, in waiting for the usual hour of 
sailing. The exact amount of money necessary to 
pay my expenses to Boston was placed in my 
hands by my brother-in-law. My sister drew me 
aside, and, arraying her face in its most winning 
dress, whispered in my ear a strange parting in- 
junction. 

“ Anna, I have tried to be kind to you since I 
knew of your want and destitution ; I desire to 
make a single request before you go, and trust you 
will cheerfully grant me the promise I seek.” 

What is it, Maria ? I am grateful for your 
kindness, and would be glad to do any thing in my 
power to repay you.” 

My sister’s lips were drawn a little closer to my 
ear, her voice deepened, while her eyes burned 
with suppressed indignation. 

“ Anna, let this mad excursion to New York be 
your last; this visit to my home a final one; this 
parting between us eternal !” 

I gazed, paralyzed for an instant, upon the 
proud face, beautiful still in its withering scorn ; 
then turned silently away. The words of adieu 
sounded by my side awakening no response. 
There were no farewells in my heart. I could not 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


181 


take upon my lips the wretched counterfeits. There 
were times when my soul scorned untruth, in spite 
of my life’s falsity. Oh, could the morally upright 
but know the mill-stones their words of harshness 
prove in the hearts of the sinning and tempted, 
wavering between the two paths forever stretching 
before them, I am sure they would be more chary 
of the poison-dropping accents, and less penurious 
of the priceless gems of hope and healing ! 

Stepping from the cars at the end of my journey 
I looked gloomily about me. I walked a few 
paces slowly and reluctantly towards Washing- 
ton Street. I turned abruptly round, muttering to 
myself, — 

“ Let this be your last visit ; this parting eternal! ” 
Oh, yes ! I know it, virtuous sister mine ; you have 
expressed in those few cold words the feeling with 
which every living thing that once loved now 
regards me ! If I could but go out of life, I would 
relieve you all; but I cannot; each effort to sever 
the thread of existence renders it stronger. How 
shall I escape ? I paused at a corner to think and 
decide upon my course. Forms hurried past me; 
faces glared upon my motionless figure, my irres- 
olute countenance. A young woman gaudily 
rather than well dressed tripped from the opposite 
16 


182 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


side of the street to the corner where I still re- 
mained in evident hesitation and uneasiness. She 
cast upon me a casual glance as she glided near 
me. Starting, she gazed at me closely and walked 
slowly forward. There was something familiar in 
her air and the half smile that lighted up her face. 
While striving to recall the scene that framed this 
countenance in my memory, I perceived the lady 
returning to my side. I looked into her eyes ; they 
kindled into an expression of pleasure, as extend- 
ing her hand she questioned me. 

“ Is not this the Anna I used to meet at Kate 
Hastings’ ? ” 

Her voice was lowered into a whisper as she 
pronounced the notorious woman’s chosen appel- 
lation. I repeated my own name and begged to 
know hers. She replied by mentioning one she 
had worn when we knew each other in New 
York; another by which she was recognized in 
Boston ; both equally fictitious. Her real name I 
never knew. That was guarded jealously, fiercely 
as a tiger guards her young. For my present 
purpose, I will call her by the pretty “ nom de 
plume^^ that distinguished her in the circle where 
we first met — “ Flora Banks.” For an explana- 
tion, I will say that she was the accomplished girl 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


183 


accompanying me on a visit to my sister, made 
during the months succeeding my husband’s deser- 
tion, spent in the house of Kate Hastings. 

I felt much surprise to meet her here, and asked 
her place of residence. The question brought a 
slight contraction of pain to a face grown bold and 
lewd, a positive hesitancy to a voice that had lost 
much of its softness and melody in the three years 
since our hearts beat with agony at the rehearsal of 
poor Agnes Milbury’s base betrayal. Together we 
had sought out Mrs. De Berry, brought down grad- 
ually from her palatial dwelling of sin, to a single 
dark, filthy room, in a damp, miserable basement, 
stretched upon a wretched couch, with her limbs and 
face distended almost to bursting, dying of a pain- 
ful malady produced by excessive drinking. We 
had listened in silent horror to her hoarse, broken 
voice as she related that part of Agnes’ story of 
which we were ignorant. The old beldame had met 
her victim in the street, wandering about in search 
of employment, a few days after her rejection from 
home by the enraged wife, — Flora remembered the 
tempestuous scenes of that day, — had decoyed 
her to her house with kind words, represent- 
ing herself as the mistress of a fashionable board- 
ing establishment, permitted her to get deeply in 


184 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


debt for board and favors pressed upon her by the 
artful schemer, and then the veil was drawn aside 
and the true picture revealed. 

“ Pay me what thou owest, deluded girl, or I’ll 
cast thee into prison ! ” was rung in the poor 
child’s ears, until she was driven to the very brink 
of despair. A glittering hope was held up to 
view — freedom, money, friends, and all of earth, 
at the fearful price of innocence, content, peace, 
and ail of heaven ! 

It was grasped, as the drowning wretch clings 
to the broken reed floated upon the breath of the 
tempest. 

“ Oh, take that pale face away ; it haunts me ! 
leave my sight, O wretched girls ! "Why are you 
here to torment me before your .time ? ” was the 
thrilling cry of the agonized woman, as she started 
from a light slumber into which she fell, after giv- 
ing us the history we sought. 

Flora drew nearer her bed, and bending over 
the revolting features, whispered, — 

“ Oh, speak once ! Tell us where poor Agnes 
is ; we want to find her. Say, where is she ? ” 

“ Where, you fiends ! Where should she be 
but out there in Potter’s Field, to which we are 
all fast crowding. O Jesu, don’t bury me beside 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


185 


her ! I won’t rise from the same spot and meet 
that eye in eternity’s dawning hour! I should 
not need to go up to the judgment seat after that ; 
my sentence would be written out in the blood of 
the innocent, on that pale, cold brow ! O Jesu, 
Jesu, have mercy ! ” 

Terror-struck at the horrid picture drawn by 
the frenzied brain. Flora and I crept out from 
the dim, noisome dwelling, and wandered away 
among the graves of the outcast. Together we 
stood in silence beside a rude stone on which was 
inscribed, — 

“ Poor Agnes ; only sixteen,” and in our living 
woe almost envied the quietness of her slumbers. 
We dared not let our thoughts follow her out be- 
yond the portals of the tomb ! 

Flora Banks and I parted soon after this scene, 
with no pleasing anticipations of a future meeting ; 
such cheerful hopes are mingled sparingly in the 
lives of frail women. 

“ Where did you say you lived. Flora ? ” I 
asked again, starting suddenly from the painful 
reverie into ’which her unexpected presence threw 
me. 

“ With my husband, in Ann Street.” Flora’s 
face flushed slightly ; her eyes sought mine doubt- 
16 * 


186 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


ingly. Recovering herself, she rejoined : “ Where 
are you stopping now, Anna ? ” 

“ Alas, my friend, I am worse off than you ! I 
have no home but the street ! ’’ 

“ Then you shall come home with me — not a 
word — come.” 

I moved along by her side mechanically, and in 
silence. I was pondering over in my mind the 
brevity of the road I was travelling, and conjec- 
turing how soon, by hurrying madly onward, I 
could possibly reach the end. 

“ Yes, Flora, I will go with you to Ann Street ; 
not that I have any relish for the vile scenes 
enacted there, but because I know the guilty spot 
hangs over perdition. Haply I may stumble upon 
some one of the numerous trap-doors, and disap- 
pear forever from the sight of those who hate me.” 

As we approached the vile locality where the air 
grew thick with cursing, and each face bore the 
marks of crime, I begged my companion to lead 
me to a place where we could get some liquor. I 
felt my desperate purpose melting within me, and 
knew it could only be sustained by the fiery stim- 
ulus of strong drink. 

Flora complied immediately. It was not the 
first time she had stood at this counter. She was 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


187 


known and accosted with coarse, familiar lan- 
guage. I hurried her out, and we proceeded to 
her home — a little dingy room on the third floor 
of a crowded tenant house. I shrank involunta- 
rily from the open door, upon perceiving a beastly 
looking negro sitting at a table smoking a filthy 
pipe I Flora laughed frantically, and dragged me 
forward, exclaiming — ‘‘Oh, never mind him ! he’s 
only my husband ! ” 

Reckless and adventurous as the vile poison 
had made me, I was not quite prepared for a rev- 
elation so disgusting. 

This is but one of the thousand revolting sights 
that must be met ere I reach the end. I thought, 
as I gazed upon the strangely united pair with a 
sensation of the most bitter loathing, — oh, could 1 
become base, sensual, and brutal as you are, it 
would be easy sliding down the last declivity in 
this horrible life ! Three weeks were passed in 
the most degrading scenes. I danced, drank, and 
raved like a mad woman. Every energy of my 
nature was bent to the purpose of destroying 
myself as soon as possible. I was only indignant 
because I could not bring my soul down to revel 
and rejoice in my baseness and ruin. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


COMPANION OF MY CELL. 

The Black Maria ! — oh, could the lumbering 
sound of its heavy wheels, the creaking crash of 
its ponderous sides, but have echoed the language 
of the multitude that had been borne out from 
Ann Street, across South Boston bridge, to the 
House of Correction, what thrilling histories would 
have rung in my ears on that gloomy day when I 
was thrust within its narrow bounds, redolent of 
the rank breath of five dark, villainous-looking 
men ! Again I had found a prison, instead of the 
silent grave I madly sought. The officer by 
whom I was arrested informed me that he had 
been placed on my track by my husband. 

Barnard had learned of my desperate course, 
interpreted my object rightly, and taken this 
means to save my life. 

On the Sabbath morning succeeding my arrival, 
I found myself sitting quietly in a large room sur- 
rounded by my fellow-prisoners — men of various 

188 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


189 


ages, stamped with the brand of almost every 
crime ; women of different degrees of guilt, from 
the infant thief, the young girl betrayed, — to the 
skilful shop-lifter and the shameless wretch of the 
horrible street ! 

A venerable man stood in the centre of the 
apartment; a large volume lay before him. He 
gazed around upon the strange audience with a 
look of compassion, as he announced his text : 

“ Wine is a mocker, strong drink is raging, and 
whosoever is deceived thereby is not wise.” These 
were not the minister’s first words, but they were 
the words that enchained my attention. I listened 
intently to the vivid delineation of the horrors that 
follow in the wake of the wine-cup. My suffering 
soul had drank deeply of the rage engendered by 
strong drink. To convince me that I had been 
most fatally unwise was no difficult task. 

It was a temperance sermon ; but the beauties 
of Christ’s righteousness, the dangers of a judg- 
ment to come awaiting the unrepentant, was not 
left to be filled up by the imagination of the 
hearers. 

I retired to my couch that night more soberly 
reflective than I had ever been before. I reviewed 
my life, and was constrained to acknowledge that 


190 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


my blackest sins had been committed under the 
influence of strong drink. Because it did not 
make a sleepy sot of me, I had flattered myself 
that it injured me less than my reeling com- 
panions. I looked upon my past madness and 
folly with feelings different from those which had 
ever before possessed me. The arguments of the 
preacher brought me to the conclusion, that, but for 
the mocking wine-cup, I might have been blest 
now with the love of husband and child. Before 
slumber came to my pillow, I sealed those convic- 
tions with a solemn vow, calling upon my sainted 
mother and her God to witness my sincerity, that 
I would never again touch the accursed poison 
that had kindled the fires of my present torment. 

I arose early on the following morning, dressed 
myself, and sat down to think over the sermon 
that had awakened my sin-benumbed soul to an- 
other effort for reform. A book lay upon the little 
table beside me. I took it up and read the gilded 
title on the cover — Holy Bible. For the first 
time in my life, I unfolded the leaves of a Protes- 
tant edition of God’s revealed will to man. A 
passage that met my eye convinced me it was a 
copy of the large volume from which the chaplain 
selected the Sabbath-morning lesson. 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


191 


“ Come unto me, all ye that labor and are 
heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” 

I lingered long over these few words. They 
seemed singularly adapted to my wretched con- 
dition — laden so heavily with sin that life had 
become a weary burden, and the grave a longed- 
for place of rest. 

My eyes sought the closing verses of the chap- 
ter. “ Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me ; 
for I am meek and lowly in heart, and ye shall 
find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, 
and my burden is light.” 

I discerned the repetition of the promise of rest ; 
but the conditions by which it was to be obtained 
appeared dark and shadowy. I glanced along the 
preceding lines, until I discovered the words, — 

“ Jesus answered and said.” 

At sight of this name, my thoughts travelled 
back to the couch of my dying mother. The 
clasped hands and uplifted eyes were reproduced 
to my gaze ; the pleading accents of the failing 
voice swept my ear. “ Lord Jesus, receive me 
into thy kingdom ! ” This promise of rest was 
then made by the Being in whom my mother 
trusted — the Almighty Friend whose aid she in- 
voked in my behalf, with an earnestness touched 
by despair. 


192 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


The conviction that God — the dreadful God 
whose laws I had broken — spoke to my trembling 
soul, in the book before me, sent a shiver through 
my veins. I closed the volume quickly, went out 
from my cell, and took a seat among my compan- 
ions. Each one sat still and silent with her eyes 
fixed on the work in her lap. 

I could not endure the scene of quietness. I 
rocked in my seat, wrung my hands, wept and 
laughed alternately. 

The matron turned upon me a watchful eye, but 
did not utter a word of rebuke, nor compel me 
to labor for two long days. My nerves had been 
severely shaken, in the course of dissipation pur- 
sued during the last three weeks — the brief term 
1 was suffered to pass in that haunt of drunkards, 
thieves, and prostitutes — “ The Black Sea.” 

At length I became calm. I was moved by the 
kindness and patience of the matron, and strove to 
make up for my disorderly behavior and idleness, 
by a respectful demeanor and close application to 
my tasks. 

Though I had flung the Bible away, in fear of 
the voice of an angry God, I could not restrain 
myself from unclosing its pages, often as a moment 
of leisure presented an opportunity. I sometimes 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


193 


carried it to the table and read a few verses while 
partaking my food. 

The Book of Job, and the Psalms, became my 
especial favorites. In them I eould find expression 
for the agonies of my remorseful soul. With Job 
I could curse the day of my birth, exclaiming with 
like fervor, — 

“ Let darkness and the shadow of death stain it, 
let a cloud dwell upon it, let the blacknness of the 
day terrify it;” — in the language of David, ery to 
God, — “ Thou hast known my reproach, and my 
shame, and my dishonor ; mine adversaries are all 
before thee. Reproach has broken my heart, and I 
am full of heaviness ; and I looked for some to take 
pity, but there was none ; and for comforters, but I 
found none.” 

My exceeding guilt must have cast a veil over 
each gleam of hope revealed in this anguished cry, 
breaking from the deep waters of affliction, else I 
had taken courage from the blessed promise span- 
ning the dark tide. 

“ The humble shall see this and be glad, and 
your heart shall live that seek God. For the 
Lord heareth the poor, and despiseth not his 
prisoners.” 


17 


194 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


Weeks, months rolled wearily by. I continued 
to weep, pray, fast, and go about with a sad coun- 
tenance, crying in my heart, “ Oh, who will show 
me any good I ” 

Sometimes I ventured to raise my tearful eyes 
to the chaplain, as he made his daily appearance 
at the stated hour for devotions, in the hope that 
he would address me, and point out the way to 
Jesus, so well known to him, the conditions of the 
rest my troubled soul desired. 

It was a little strange that he never saw my 
tears, nor heard my bursting sighs. I was the 
only one of the prisoners who bowed the knee, 
when he lifted his voice to the God of the op- 
pressed. 

Each coming Sabbath dawned upon me with 
increasing sacredness. Though I could not com- 
prehend the wondrous plan of salvation, I came to 
prize the heavenly message sounding upon my 
ears, in its unadorned simplicity and beauty, free 
from the senseless jargon, the misty ceremonies, 
that hide a risen Saviour from the gaze of the 
unlearned. 

I had not yet seen with eyes unveiled the depths 
of my soul’s depravity, nor been constrained to cry 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


195 


ont in sinking terror, “Lord, save or I perish!” 
hut I regarded the privileges I enjoyed as priceless, 
privileges that might never again bless my outcast 
life. 

I endeavored to store my mind with favorite 
passages from the sacred volume, commit to 
memory the beautiful hymns, chanted so plain- 
tively that my mother’s voice commending her 
dear ones to the God of the fatherless seemed to 
sweep down the vista of departed years, and thrill 
my soul with a strange, sweet harmony. 

I cannot relinquish the belief that my mother 
was an enlightened Christian, though a devoted 
Catholic. Through the gloom that obscured the 
brightness of the Gospel, her spiritual eye must 
have beheld her Saviour ; for her life was blame- 
less, and in the hour of death, though her lips 
pressed the consecrated cross, her voice was lifted 
to no saint nor martyr, but to the everlasting 
Father in the name of Jesus Christ. 

The term of my imprisonment was nearing its 
close. I had entered upon the last month ; the last 
week began to loom up before my lone, forsaken 
heart, like a spectre of dismay. Should the last 
moment of my stay be the last link in the chain of 
circumstances severing me eternally from a sister’s 


196 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


love — a mother’s sainted face ? The wrath of God . 
covered my soul like a mantle of blackness. I * 
dared not multiply its folds by wallowing again in \ 
the mire of sensuality and crime. | 

I endured my wretched forebodings, the ap- | 
proaching terror of my outcast life, in silence, g 
unheeded by all save the merciful One above, who * 
was leading me in a way I knew not, until the | 
dawn of the day that would see me roofless and I 
destitute. My bursting heart could suppress its 1 
agony no longer. I sought the presence of the J 
matron. I fancied she regarded my tearful face 1 
and agitated manner with coldness. I looked im- I 
ploringly into her eyes. j 

“ Madam, have you a mother ? ” , 

“ Yes, in heaven.” 

The dimness gathering over her steady glance 
emboldened me. I seized her hand and ex- 
claimed, — 

“ I have a mother there too. For the sake of 
those two blessed saints, mingling their voices in J 
angel choirs, pity me ” J 

“ What do you want ? ” was uttered with an : 
effort to repress the softening tones that stole the • 
firmness from her voice. 


“ I want to be good.” 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


197 


“ That’s easy enough ; only forsake the wrong, 
and do right.” 

“ I have been a dreadful wicked woman.” 

“ No doubt of that ; all who come here would 
tell the same story if they spoke the truth.” 

“ I am firmly resolved to leave off drinking, and 
forsake my sinful way forever.” 

This woman, so well versed in fallen human 
nature, accorded me an unbelieving smile, and re- 
sumed the packing of some of the discharged 
prisoners’ apparel, at the same time murmuring 
sadly, seemingly more to herself than in reply to 
my words, — 

“ Ah, such words and promises as we witness 
here — such breaches of solemn faith as might 
make the angels weep, if sorrow were a thing 
known above this sinful earth ! ” 

Turning about at the sound of my sobs, she 
looked a moment upon my dropping tears, and 
placing a prison hood in my hand, said more 
kindly, — 

“ Anna, take this ; perhaps you have forgotten 
that you came here without a bonnet.” 

I had not forgotten the terrible night when I 
was hurried from a dance hall to the Tombs. 
I did not want the hood, but I had no strength to 
17 * 


198 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


return it, — no thought for a thing so trifling in a 
moment of such importance to me. 

“ I wish I could speak to the chaplain ; he 
would certainly advise me for my good.” 

“ There he is, walking through the opposite 
door ; run and say what you wish.” 

I started, and crossing the room stood at his 
side. 

“ Reverend sir, ” I commenced respectfully, with 
bowed head, “ will you grant me your blessing and 
advice ? ” 

u "What did you say ? ” he asked, in apparent 
surprise. 

“ I am a guilty, homeless outcast. Will you 
tell me what to do ? ” I sobbed out, with my hopes 
almost sunk in despair. 

“ Have you relatives ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Then go to them at once, confess your sins, 
and commence a new life.” 

“ I cannot ! oh, I cannot ! ” I cried in horrid 
agony. 

He looked at me a moment, and replied coldly, — 

“ I can have but little confidence in a wish to 
reform, when the heart is so full of pride and stub- 
bornness.” 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


199 


0 servant of God, you little knew my rela- 
tives — men and women who would brave the 
pains of purgatory before they would own me, a 
degraded convict, as a sister, or lift a finger for my 
rescue ! You could not know of the deserted 
husband, the innocent boy, the aged grandmother, 
in a home my guilty footsteps dared not profane ! 

“ There is an office, I think, in Bedford Street, 
where women like you are befriended.” 

1 glanced up into the face of the chaplain with 
eagerness and a fresh kindled hope. 

“ What number, sir? oh, don^t say you have for- 
gotten it, or I am lost ! ” 

The good man evidently regarded me as a mad 
creature. 

“ Number nine,” fell from his lips slowly. I re- 
treated toward my cell. The dreaded hour when 
I should be thrust into the street, and the gate 
closed upon me, was at hand, and I wanted to 
look into that book once more, to throw myself 
upon my knees once again, in the spot from 
whence so many anguished prayers had been sent 
up through my prison-roof, with scarcely a spark 
of faith that they would pierce the ear of the 
Eternal. 

I was alone. The narrow walls encompassed 


200 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


me ; the dark roof could not quite shut from my 
vision the glowing sky — a broad, bright strip was 
visible through the open door of my cell. I bowed 
my form, with lifted eyes to the heavens above me. 

“O my God! thou knowest all my sin and 
shame. Thou seest me a miserable convict, go- 
ing out I know not whither, bearing upon me 
the undeniable marks of crime and wretched- 
ness. O, speak, thou God of the oppressed! shall 
I array myself in this prison badge, given me in- 
stead of the help I sought, that all who meet me 
shall laugh at my calamity, and mock that the 
hour of my fear has come ? Oh, thou dost not re- 
quire it ! Thou art more merciful than man. O 
thou God who alone dost pity ! give me strength 
and courage to go out bare-headed, and walk 
through the streets of the city, turning neither to 
the right nor the left, until I reach the spot where 
fallen woman can find a friend. O thou God for- 
bid that this should prove a delusive hope ! ” 

My name floated through the open door. I 
sprang upon my feet, pressed my lips to the Bible 
clasped in my hands, and placed it reverently upon 
the table. I flung the prison hood upon the floor 
of my cell, and hurried out into the corridor. I 
was conducted along the passages, through the 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


201 


outer door, and, before I became quite conscious 
that the street was again my home, the gate 
swung with a heavy bound into its fastenings, and 
I was outside ! I gazed around me. Several of 
my fellow-prisoners were loitering about ; some of 
them apparently as much puzzled in regard to 
their next step in life as myself. 

Two or three wicked, profane men, full of fun 
and glee at the termination of their confinement, 
stood leaning against the gate, evidently waiting 
to witness the dispersion of their companions. 

A woman touched my arm and said, “ I am 
going to Ann Street. They’ll have to sit up late 
and get up early to catch me napping again. 
Come along ! you don’t ’spect anybody after you ; 
do ye ? ” 

I drew back from the coarse, rude creature, and 
replied sadly, — 

“ No ; there is not a living soul on this earth 
who would take the trouble to come after me.” 

“ Then what are ye waitin’ for ? ” 

I looked at the degraded woman in surprise. 

“ You did not think I was going with you ? ” 

“ Yes ; why not ? ” 

“ Because I had rather starve like a dog in the 
streets, than go there. I’ve been there once ! ” 


202 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


“ Starve, then ! was the mocking reply, and the 
poor wretch laughed in derision, as she turned 
away. I waited until a long distance lay between 
us, and then stepped into the road. I drew back, 
on perceiving a horse and chaise rapidly approach- 
ing along the dusty way. To my astonishment, 
the horse was reined up at my side, and a familiar 
form sprang out. A kind voice thrilled my des- 
pairing heart. 

“ Anna, you did not expect me this time.” 

“ My husband ! Am I awake ? Have you in- 
deed come for me ? ” 

Barnard’s voice sounded confusedly in my ears. 
A shawl was thrown about me, a bonnet placed 
on my head, and my weak, trembling form lifted 
into the carriage. Belief had come so suddenly 
and unexpectedly, that I was overwhelmed for 
some minutes. 

By the time we reached the city, I had recov- 
ered myself enough to say, “Barnard, I cannot 
tell you how grateful I feel for this timely act of 
mercy. My future life, if it is to be spared, will 
show you.” 

I detected a sad, bitter expression upon my hus- 
band’s countenance as he replied, — 

“ O Anna, I wish I could believe you in ear- 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


203 


nest ! It would be the happiest moment I have 
known for long years.’’ 

I suppressed the grief I felt to perceive that my 
husband joined with the ungodly scorner, the faith- 
less Christian, the unbelieving worldling, in the 
attempt to shut and bar, in my pleading face, the 
door of a better life opened to my despairing soul 
by the sword ot the Spirit, in the solitude of a 
prison cell. 

“ Barnard, you have often said if I would ab- 
stain from drinking, we might be happy. I have 
taken a solemn vow, before God, never again to 
touch the wine-cup.” 

There was something in my voice that im- 
pressed my husband, for he turned anc^ looked 
fixedly into my face. I continued, — 

“ More than this ; I had fully resolved, before you 
came, to turn my back upon the road of crime, 
and seek the protection of an association for the 
rescue of fallen women.” 

Barnard seemed touched by my earnestness, and 
replied in a subdued tone, — 

“ My wife, I will not grieve you by doubts and 
reproaches. I believe you desire to be a good 
woman. I know I prevented you once, — perhaps 
more than once. I shall not do it again. Cheer 


204 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


up, Anna ; you must know I love you still, or I 
should not have come for you.’^ 

Tears were flowing softly over my face, but my 
heart was lighter, and the path before me became 
less dark and drear, for the few words of sym- 
pathy and trust falling from the lips of my com- 
panion, — the smile of encouragement and ap- 
proval beaming upon me with something of the 
glow and tenderness of earlier days. 


CHAPTER XX. 


THE POWER OF GRACE. 

Home ! a guiltless home was mine once again! I 
sat in my own little parlor. It was on the second 
floor of a respectable house at the West End. 
The repeated losses and failures in business affairs 
experienced by my husband, during the years of 
my shameful career and abandonment, forbade the 
indulgence of our former extravagant notions in 
regard to style and manner of living. I glanced 
around me with a quiet feeling of rest never en- 
joyed when surrounded by the luxurious appoint- 
ments that gild the first brief stages of woman’s 
life of sin. My feet had been permitted to linger 
in the palaces of crime longer than most girls who 
make a like fatal choice ; but I went down at last, 
as all frail ones with fair faces and stained souls 
must go down, until the want, misery, and des- 
peration of my condition, made this humble home 
seem a very paradise of beauty and content. 

The carpet was coarse and sombre in its hues, 

18 205 


206 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


but clean and spotless; the furniture plain and 
simple, but arranged in perfect order, and free from 
a particle of dust. 

I turned from the pleasant contemplation of this 
quiet picture, to one of the windows overlooking 
the street. I drew aside the snowy curtain with 
its tasteful fringes, and looked earnestly along the 
sidewalk leading past the front entrance. I had 
gazed in this direction often during the long morn- 
ing, and as often retired with a cloud of disap- 
pointment gathering over my impatient heart. 

Now, a low, glad cry broke from my lips ; the 
curtain folds fell from my hand ; I flew on the 
wings of love down the stairs. My fingers were 
upon the latch when the bell began to vibrate to 
the gentle hand without. I forced open the door, 
and caught my boy, my precious little Zachary to 
my bosom. I was silent, but my tears fell fast 
upon the chestnut curls floating to my lips on the 
breath of morning. I lifted his rosy face, and 
gazed long and tenderly into the clear blue eyes, 
fixed wonderingly upon the convulsed features of 
the stranger whom a father’s well-known voice 
informed him was his own loving mother. 

I had not seen the sweet little lad, who had just 
passed his fifth birthday, for three years. The ex- 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


207 


pectation or hope of beholding his innocent face 
again on earth had been gradually relinquished. 
My brain had sometimes reeled at the fearful 
thought of meeting him in the day of judgment 
and rendering up to an angry God the account of 
a faithless mother ! 

I looked upon the boy I could scarce realize as 
my own, after the first gush of tenderness and joy, 
without feelings of reverence, and an unutterable 
dread lest I, a woman of sin, steeped in blackest 
guilt, should contaminate a thing so pure and 
stainless. Every morning of my life, I prayed 
God to set a watch over the gateway of my lips, 
that nothing should pass them to offend his little 
one suffered to dwell in the presence of a creature 
so vile ! I knew that this child, fresh from the 
hand of his Maker, ought to be taught the lessons 
that I had read in the Bible during my imprison- 
ment, — lessons that had reached my ears too late 
to save me from a life of sin and woe ; but I felt 
myself not only incompetent, but forbidden to ap- 
proach the holy task by the Almighty One, whose 
vengeance I had so long and daringly provoked. 

It was with a joy and relief finding no adequate 
expression in words, that I learned, through the 
lady of whom we hired our tenement, that in a 


208 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


neighboring church a part of each Sabbath-day was 
devoted to the instruction of children of all ages in 
the principles of God’s word ; that it was a school 
free for all, that my child as well as hers and the 
favored little ones of the members of the denomi- 
nation, could participate equally in the blessings of 
this beautiful organization. On the succeeding 
Sabbath morning, I sat at my favorite window, 
peeping through the half-open blinds, watching with 
a mother’s pride the childish figure of my pretty 
lad, until it became lost to my view in the happy 
group of little ones clustering about the sacred 
edifice. I began to miss my Bible — companion 
of my solitary cell. I hesitated to ask my husband 
to purchase one for me. I feared his ridicule. 
One day, he came home earlier than usual, bring- 
ing a basket of crockery ware, and several house- 
hold articles of which we were in need. He had 
bought them at an auction sale of the furniture of 
a public house. After examining each purchase 
and listening to my husband’s remarks about his 
excellent bargain, I ventured to speak of the 
one treasure that my heart craved more than all 
others. 

“ Barnard, were there any Bibles sold ? ” 

A look of unfeigned astonishment was fastened 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


209 


upon me, a pair of lips curled slightly as the ex- 
clamation broke forth, — 

“ A Bible, Anna ! I guess you would read it a 
good deal.” 

“ O Barnard! don’t look so, and speak contempt- 
uously of God’s holy book ; it taught me my duty 
to you and our child — revealed to me the awful 
guilt of my past life. I sometimes dare to think if I 
had read it before my soul became so loaded with 
sin, and my name with infamy, it might have saved 
me ! ” 

My words were earnest, and my tones solemn. 
The scornful smile flickered out from my husband’s 
face, and he rejoined with seriousness, — 

“ What difference does that make, Anna ? It 
will save you just the same now. I remember my 
old father used to study it by the hour, to prove 
his title valid to a seat in heaven.” 

“ Was your father a believer in the Bible? ” 

“ Yes ; he believed Jesus Christ died to save 
every son and daughter of Adam, without the dis- 
tinctions some bigoted people choose to make.” 

“ Do you believe it, Barnard ? ” 

“ Yes, I suppose so ; I never troubled myself 
much about theology ; always found enough else 
to think about.” 

18 * 


210 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


The last careless words floated back to my ear 
through the closing door, as my husband disap- 
peared from the room. 

This new theory did not lighten my breast of its 
heaviness. I felt a consciousness in my own soul, 
that my guilt had shut me out from the presence 
of a holy God, that it was impossible for him to 
regard me with the slightest favor. All trust in 
the power of priest, saint, or angel, to deliver me 
from the bondage of sin and death, had faded 
before the sublime truths of inspiration, falling on 
my heart in the stillness of a convict’s cell. It 
seems a mystery to me yet, that I could have 
studied the Bible so constantly and thoroughly 
without fully comprehending Christ’s saving mis- 
sion on earth. The good news of the Gospel was 
still held in store to bless the prodigal, sickened 
of feeding on the husks of iniquity, and seeking 
the way to a father’s house. A Bible was folded 
to my breast that night, and I shed tears of glad- 
ness as I sat until long after midnight, review- 
ing the passages that had awakened my highest 
admiration, and expressed so perfectly the varied 
emotions of my guilty, sin-burdened soul. 

I gazed upon the sleeping faces of my husband 
and child with a deeper tenderness, as I placed the 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


211 


precious volume beneath my pillow, fell on my 
knees beside my couch, and prayed the God of all 
the earth to open some way by which I could be 
made a better woman, before being called to stand 
at the judgment bar. 

On returning from a short walk, one delightful 
afternoon near the close of the Indian summer, I 
lingered a few moments in my landlady’s parlor 
below, listening to a favorite song played by her 
husband, an accomplished musician. A stranger 
made her appearance at the door, and inquired 
if any children resided there who attended the 
Bowdoin Street sabbath school. On receiving a 
reply in the affirmative, she introduced herself as a 
missionary of that church — explained the object 
of her visit by intimating a desire to become 
acquainted with the parents of the interesting 
little ones. Upon being invited to enter, she came 
into the parlor and seated herself familiarly in our 
midst. She spoke warmly of the object and 
progress of the school — the importance of an 
earnest attention to the welfare of the immortal 
soul, and urged us immediately to attend a prayer- 
meeting held in the neighborhood. 

I was deeply struck by the missionary’s benevo- 
lent face, the exceeding interest m.anifested by an 


212 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


entire s'hranger in the training of my child and my 
own eternal safety. I was certain she did not dis- 
cover the stains of guilt upon me, and I secretly 
resolved to attend the next meeting. 

I presented myself at the designated place — 20 
Bridge Street. No one had yet arrived, though 
the room was open and lighted. I sat down, but 
growing impatient arose and went out, thinking 
there would be time for me to make a call on a 
friend before the services commenced. I was 
laughed at, when I mentioned the place where I 
designed to pass the evening, and strongly pressed 
to relinquish the idea. It was quite late, before I 
escaped from the importunities of my neighbor, 
and again entered the house of prayer. The room 
was now crowded, and I seated myself in the only 
vacant chair, near the door. 

I had never before attended a Protestant prayer- 
meeting. I was struck with awe and solemnity 
by the new, strange scene — the motionless forms 
— the devotional faces — some bowed in meekness 
and humility upon silent bosoms, others raised 
upward with an expression of soulfelt homage and 
grateful praise, while the occasional tear-drop, the 
beaming eye, the deep-drawn breath, and fervent- 
ly uttered exclamation, revealed the tenderness. 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


213 


joy? sympathy, and union existing in -the hearts 
of this band of worshippers. My eyes rested at 
length upon a figure occupying a seat near a table, 
in the midst of the gathered group. My very 
heart stood still with reverence, as I gazed on the 
brow of earnest thought, the eye of spiritual 
light, the face of almost unearthly paleness. The 
softened brilliancy of the lamp suspended from 
the ceiling tinged the brown waves of hair with a 
hue of gold — overshadowed the noble countenance 
with a radiance like the halo of brightness encir- 
cling the pictured head of the blessed Redeemer. 
A voice deep and impressive floated out upon the 
hushed atmosphere, laden with the words of a 
parable,, selected from the same book that beguiled 
my prison life of half its woes, and which I still 
perused with untiring interest. 

The Bible was closed with slow, reverent air, 
and the reader proceeded to explain, in strong, ear- 
nest language, the hidden meaning of the striking 
lesson. His concluding tones were succeeded by 
a few moments of silence deep and profound. 

“ Let us pray.” These three little words made 
me start. They stirred my soul like an entreating 
command. I felt constrained to sink on my knees 
with the bowed worshippers. Hateful memories 


214 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


of what I had been prevented me. I bent my 
head upon my breast in shame and grief. I 
hushed my heart’s heavy throbs, that no word of 
the solemn invocation might escape me. It came 
to my ears, touching and beautiful, like a Psalm 
of David, and I was struck as I had been often 
when reading those remarkable supplications, that 
no aid from departed saints was implied or craved ; 
that the fervent pleader approached the Supreme 
God with reverent confidence in the name of Jesus 
Christ. 

On the resuming of seats a hymn of thanksgiv- 
ing burst forth, and the faces of the happy group 
shone as if their rejoicing souls were borne up to 
the gate of heaven, on the wings of the wondrous 
melody. I gazed upon the picture of holy joy 
entranced — almost overpowered with the fancy 
that I had been suddenly transported to the skies, 
and was granted a single view of all I had lost ! 

The words of an exhortation, falling from the 
lips of one near me, recalled me from my delirious 
imaginings. The restlessness and misery of a 
human being alienated from God by sin, with no 
hope in the nearing future life, was most truthfully 
portrayed. My heart echoed each spoken word — 
the peace and happiness of the believer in Chris"- 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


215 


dwelt upon with a fervor and feeling impossible 
for one who had not drank deeply of its joys. 
The concluding sentences were addressed to any 
persons of the former class that chanced to be 
present, entreating them to forsake their sins and 
seek the salvation of their souls. 

I thought the eyes of the speaker rested upon 
my face an instant, as he pronounced the final 
words and sat down. Could he mean me? It 
might be so ; for this stranger knew nothing of my 
guilty career. 

“ Oh ! is it possible that I, a guilty, abandoned 
wretch, can gain this salvation?’’ was the voiceless 
cry of my smitten soul, as I buried my face in my 
hands and wept, in the bitterness of remorse verg- 
ing on despair. The present scene, with its array 
of shining faces, its delineations of coming glory, 
its songs of thrilling harmony, retired far back 
from my soul’s startled vision, and a dread pano- 
rama of dark, revolting pictures swept slowly 
past with awful distinctness ; — crime, at an age 
when most girls are children ; in this moment it 
seemed no palliation of my guilt, that relentless 
fate, iron circumstances, men on earth, and fiends 
in hell, had conspired to drag me from the heights 
of virtue ; — a mad and clandestine desertion of 


216 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


my relatives, who acted in accordance with their 
best judgment, in the resolution to hide at once 
the deep blot upon their name, and an erring sister 
from farther temptation, behind bars and bolts; 
how much better to have entered life through the 
cold, cheerless gloom of a convent’s cell, than to 
sink down to the bottomless pit, from halls of 
mocking mirth and drunken revelry! — infidelity to 
the purest ties this side of heaven, — home, hus- 
band, child, — the pleadings of a guilty passion 
alone ever dared to urge an excuse for this most 
damning stain upon my life’s blackened history; — 
defiance of the wrath of God, by an attempt to 
rush into his presence unbidden; — a headlong 
plunge into the whirling vortex of intemperance; — 
fierce assaults upon a sinning sister while the de- 
mons of revenge and murder held riot in a jealous 
breast; — a wife, a mother dragging herself down 
far below the level of brute beasts, by seeking the 
black purlieus of crime, and mingling with the in- 
fernal orgies of Ann Street ! 

Dare I, O my God! I, a woman so vile and de- 
praved — dare I hope for mercy ? I cowered back 
in my seat, folded my veil closer about my eyes 
to shut out the phantoms of horror and dismay. 
They would not flee at my bidding, but gathered 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


217 


themselves around me like a solid phalanx of 
fiends to cut off the last avenue of retreat from 
the lake of fire, whose burning waves were already 
dashing in upon my soul ! 

The joyfully solemn strains of the doxology 
sounded in my terror-stunned ears like the voices 
of the angelic hosts, expiring in the dreadful dis- 
tance ever increasing between my lost spirit and 
the golden gates of the celestial city ! 

I rushed from the place of prayer, and fled in 
agony to my home. Up and down, all the weary 
hours of this terrible night, my footsteps trod the 
floor of my chamber. Sometimes, I was beating 
my breast and rending my hair, exclaiming in wild, 
piercing shrieks, “ God be merciful to me a sin- 
ner I ” — sometimes cursing and raving like a lost 
soul waking to torment in the regions of eternal 
despair. 

When the gray light of dawn came stealing 
in through the windows, I threw myself upon a 
couch, wearied out with my painful vigil. I slept 
a single hour. I woke to find my fingers clenched 
so fiercely into my hands that the nails were 
stained with blood, — my brow drenched with 
sweat, cold and heavy as the dews of death. I 
arose and went about my household duties me- 
19 


218 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


chanically, like one held fast in the clutch of some 
terrific dream. I repelled the caresses of my gen- 
tle boy, and shrank from the society of my hus- 
band. I locked up my Bible, and turned away 
from my food with a sickened sensation. At 
length my physical nature sank beneath the weight 
of my spirit’s torturing woe. I dragged my sink- 
ing frame up to my chamber, closed the shutters 
against the mocking eye of day, and stretched 
myself upon my bed to die ! I fully believed it. 
Resolutely refusing all medical aid, neighborly 
ministration, or the company of my family, I lay 
there in an agony of despair that I feel certain 
will remain forever undescribed by word or wail 
from human lips ! 

Two weeks had dragged along in wearying mo- 
ments since the night of the prayer-meeting. I 
had become so weak that I no longer offered any 
opposition to the efforts made for my comfort. A 
watcher had been stationed by my bedside when 
the family retired. She was now slumbering in 
her chair. The startling voice of time from a 
neighboring clock pealed out the hour of mid- 
night. Each solemn stroke sank deeper and 
deeper into my soul, like the concluding words of 
the sentence of my doom ; and when the last faint 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


219 


sound died upon the hushed atmosphere, I sprang 
half-way from my bed and cried — “ It is just, O 
my God!” 

If thy judgments prove severe, 

I am condemned while thou art clear.” 

Instantly my tumultuous soul grew still with 
awe. The majestic purity of the Infinite charac- 
ter shone upon me with a radiance so dazzling 
that I fell forward upon my face. I dared not cry 
out, though distinctly before my vision just beneath 
me yawned a dark, unfathomable abyss. I shrank 
away appalled, and instinctively threw my arms 
upward for aid. 

What was that strange, mild brilliancy gather- 
ing into form through the mists of my chamber ? 

A crowned head, garments of crimson, and 
feet of wondrous beauty ! O thou merciful God ! 
The crown is of thorns, the garments dyed in 
blood, and the feet pierced with nails ! It is thy 
Son extended upon the cross ! They told me the 
wicked Jews crucified him ! O, it was I ! It was 
I! Let me sink out of sight into everlasting 
darkness ! 

Again I fell prostrate upon the bed. Music, 
sweeter than the sweetest that mortal ever heard, 
came floating to my ear : 


220 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


“I died for thee. For thee I bore the cross 
that thou might’st wear a crown. Look on my 
wounds ! ” 

Trembling in guilty fear, I ventured to raise my 
head, and from that sorrow-veiled countenance, 
encircled by a radiance beyond the brightness of 
the sun, softer than the lustre of moonlight, 
beamed upon me a ray of compassion so human 
and yet divine, that my soul was filled with 
grateful love, my eyes with blessed tears, and my 
mouth with glad, broken utterances. 

“ My Saviour ! thou pitiest me ! I know thou 
lovest me ! Thou dost forgive ! O blessed Jesus, 
let me fall at thy feet ! ” 

I arose from my bed, sank upon the floor, and 
lifted up my eyes in silent adoration. The 
image of suffering pity had vanished. Was it 
a dream ? No ! no ! Praise be unto God forever ! 
My chamber still blazed with light, my heart 
burned with love. I felt that my Saviour had only 
retired a little way, to give room for the hosts of 
heaven to come down and rejoice over me. In 
this glad hour, it did not appear strange that the 
notes of rejoicing should be wafted to my ears, 
for T did not remember that Jesus said, ‘‘ There is 
more joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth. 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


221 


than over ninety and nine just persons that need 
no repentance.” 

My watcher awoke in alarm, and, thinking her 
patient had suddenly become delirious, clasped me 
in her arms just as I succeeded in extracting my 
Bible from its hiding-place, and carried me forcibly 
to my bed. In vain I assured her that I was 
no longer sick, that Christ the great physician had 
appeared at my bedside and made me whole. I 
was contented, however, to lie still, with my Bible 
pressed to my lips, folded to my heart in a rapture 
of thanksgiving. 

“ Open the shutters and let yiis Sabbath sun 
shine upon my bliss ! ” I exclaimed joyfully, as I 
discerned the misty beams of gold stealing across 
the window-seat. 

Oh, the splendor of that morning ! It is framed 
in my memory as one with skies of deepest blue, 
clouds so soft and white that they might well be 
mistaken for angels’ wings, a morning when earth 
put on her greenest robes, and crowned herself 
with loveliest flowers ; a morning when I recog- 
nized God’s smile of love, glorious enough to over- 
shadow a world, gentle enough to fall on a broken, 
contrite spirit ! 

“ Six thousand abandoned women in the city of 
19 * 


222 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


Boston ! ” This announcement struck niy eye, not 
simply as a sad item of newspaper intelligence, 
not as a floating fragment of a dry, statistical 
report, but as a dread, startling reality. It smote 
my spirit’s ear, like a wild, appealing cry of mortal 
anguish, mingled with beseeching tones for help 
and deliverance. The bitter, shame-freighted 
words lengthened into paragraphs, and through 
the slender channel of the single brief line I 
seemed to read, — 

“ Six thousand throbbing, human hearts 
crowded with torturing memories of the far-off, 
forever-departed days of innocence ; happy homes 
shrouded by a daughter’s guilt-stained hands in 
a mantle of disgrace and blackness ! Six thou- 
sand immortal souls plunging onward in a jour- 
ney whose close is hidden in the mists of eternal 
night ! ” 

The picture that grew into life before my inner 
vision, terrified me. I sprang upon my feet, and 
paced the floor in agony. I lifted my voice to 
the ear ever open to the cries of the distressed. 

“And from these horrors of a guilty conscience, 
from this dread of an awful future, O God of my 
praise, thou hast rescued me — the most unworthy, 
the vilest of them all ! I am but one of those six 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


223 


thousand. Father in heaven ! must they writhe on 
in torture and shame ? Must they rush headlong 
down the fearful steep whose base is wreathed in 
the smoke of everlasting torment ? Shall there be 
no burning tears, no thrilling shout of alarm, no 
frantic yearning of Christian hearts, to win them 
back to kindred arms, to earthly homes, to an all- 
merciful, all-powerful Saviour. 

From this moment of awakening to a sense of 
the perilous condition of my fallen companions, — 
seeming all the more appalling, when viewed in 
contrast with my late-found bliss, — 1 was moved 
to spend days and nights in prayer, pleading with 
God to arise in his might, stretch forth his hand, 
and unclose the doors of present and eternal salva- 
tion to these most unhappy, least-pitied of earth’s 
sinning ones. 


CHAPTER XXL 


WORK IN THE VINEYARD. 

“ Mrs. Cooley, will you please to lend me four- 
teen cents ? ” It was a feeble, plaintive voice that 
reached my ear as I was briskly performing my 
morning duties about the house. I loved my 
home now, and strove to make it attractive and 
pleasant for the husband I must win to Christ, 
— the dear boy to be trained for the courts of 
heaven. 

“ Certainly, Mrs. Kilburn. T scarcely recog- 
nized your voice. Are you not sick ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ; I am almost too miserable to be out ! ” 
I looked into the pale, worn face of my poor 
friend, as I handed her the change, and my heart 
was touched with an indescribable pity. I knew 
that upon her wretched heart was resting a burden 
of guilt like that which had been lifted from mine, 
and I thought how blest I should feel to behold 
her a partaker of my present peace. 


224 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


225 


“ I will come and see you soon, Eleanor,” I 
said, as I gazed sadly after her retreating form. 

“ Will you ? ” The shrunken face was turned 
upon me with a look which said, “ Do you not 
think yourself too good now ? ” 

The charm of my occupation was gone. It 
grew less a pleasure and more a task. I hurried 
through the , usual routine, instead of lingering as 
formerly over the effect of each fold of drapery, 
the position of each article of furniture. 

When all was accomplished, and my little boy 
sent away to school, I took my Bible and sought 
a retired apartment on an upper floor of my tene- 
ment. I read a chapter, prayed and sang, without 
the fulness of peace that generally attended these 
exercises. I feared that I was growing less spirit- 
ual, and continued my devotions until a sense of 
weariness came over me, and I bowed my head 
and lost myself in a gentle slumber. 

I started, as if a hand touched me. The echo 
of a voice seemed melting on my ear, — “Forever.” 
It was repeated. “ Awake, thou sluggard ! work 
while the day lasts, for a night cometh in which 
work is ended forever.” 

“Forever!” The startling echo of my dream 
still floated through my brain in warning cadence, 


226 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


as I hastened down my stairway, out into the 
street, along the dismal lane where my unredeemed 
sister was wasting away in poverty and disease. 

Mrs. Kilburn was reclining upon a lounge, ex- 
hausted with her walk. I approached her, and 
said, — 

“ Eleanor, I feel that I have neglected you. It 
was not because I thought myself better than you, 
but that home cares and various duties occupied 
my time. Will you forgive me, and permit me to 
minister to you in your feebleness ? I know you 
are unable to wait upon yourself.” 

The poor creature, with her dim, sunken eyes, 
was affected by my humility, and replied, that she 
had nothing to forgive. It was herself who 
needed pardon for her distrust and unkind thoughts 
of me. Oh, how the high, strong barriers of cold- 
ness and doubt disappeared before the warmth and 
sunshine of a single loving word ! God be praised 
for the power with which he has invested kind 
words and gentle deeds ! 

On my next visit, I found her in bed, attended 
by a sister from the country. She looked so much 
worse than when I saw her last, that I began to 
fear death would come before the hour for which 
I was watching and praying, when I could talk to 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


227 


her of salvation with the hope that she would 
listen. 

Mrs. Kilburn had been an invalid more than 
one year. Missionaries had visited her, and 
warned her of the danger of going out of time 
into eternity without a hope in God’s mercy. All 
these prayers and entreaties seemed to fall on deaf 
ears, and the faithful laborers were nearly forced 
into the conclusion that she must grope her way 
through the dark vale unenlightened by the beams 
of the Gospel. 

I did not feel that the right moment had come, 
but I could not forbear whispering close to her 
pillow, — 

“ Eleanor, my dear friend ! don’t you feel that 
you are a sinner, and need Christ to support you 
through your approaching trial ?” 

Looking into my face with surprise, she replied 
boldly : — 

‘‘ Why, no, Mrs. Cooley ; I am no sinner ; I have 
done no wickedness for a year. I trust I have 
grown better ; I don’t think God will shut me out 
of heaven for the few wrongs I have committed.” 

This reply was a dagger to my heart, and I left 
her side and walked about the lowly room, orderly 
and scrupulously clean, but looking bare and des- 


228 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


date. A sudden thought seized me. Could I not 
reach this gross mind by some other means than 
prayers and exhortations? Every thing should 
become subservient to the winning of souls to 
Christ. 

With a tender adieu I went out of the house, 
promising a speedy return. An hour had not 
elapsed before I stood again by the lowly couch, 
with my countenance wreathed in smiles. The 
table beside the invalid was loaded with little 
delicacies for the sick, and a bouquet of sweetest, 
freshest flowers adorned the window-sill. My 
money had not purchased them — my purse for- 
bade the thought of luxuries, but a successful visit 
had been paid to some wealthy, benevolent brethren 
with whom I was permitted to sit weeping for the 
sins that made Him bleed at the sacred table of 
my Lord and Master. 

I did not again address my dying friend upon 
the subject that filled my heart and kept me a 
constant suppliant at the throne of grace. The 
sister who attended upon Mrs. Kilburn was a pro- 
fessor of religion, and I sometimes ventured to 
converse with her during the hours of my minis- 
tration at the sick couch ; but she was so cold in 
her love — so formal in her expressions, that my 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


229 


soul was often moved with feelings of indignant 
sorrow. On one occasion, the name of another 
sister was introduced, a very young girl guilty of a 
single crime that had cast its fatal blight over her 
whole existence. I was inexpressibly grieved and 
astonished to hear the harsh epithets so freely 
applied, the unforgiving spirit manifested towards 
her. 

“ Don’t let her enter my room ! I would not speak 
to the miserable girl!” was the unfeeling expres- 
sion of the dying woman, herself fourfold guilty. 

‘‘ Never fear that^ while I am with you ; she 
would hardly like to meet my eye,” was the 
rejoinder of the other, startled for once out of her 
frozen mien. 

I walked homeward weeping. I sought the 
presence of my Saviour where I gained the in- 
spiration of labor for the salvation of this soul. I 
plead with Him as a child would plead with a 
parent for a coveted boon, long withheld. 

Weeks sped along. No change was visible in 
my dying friend, but gradual decay. I still con- 
tinued to supply her temporal needs, breathing 
into no mortal ear the precious hope that my 
Father had given me in the silence of my chamber. 

One morning, upon opening my front door, T dis- 

20 


230 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


covered Mr. Kilburn, the husband of the sick wo- 
man, standing near the steps, in tears. I sprang 
forward, and grasped the arm in silence. My heart 
was smitten with a sudden, terrible fear. “ O my 
Father ! has she died and made no sign ? ” was the 
cry of my stricken soul. The husband understood 
me, and replied, — 

“ She is not dead, but dying ; go to her immedi- 
ately ; I must run for her sister ; she bade me bring 
her that she might look on her face once more.” 

“ Eleanor wants to see her sister ; the faces of 
the loved are alone desirable ; love is of God ” — 
was the train of thought running through my mind 
during my hurried walk to the house of the dying. 

Mrs. Kilburn was sitting up in bed. An expres- 
sion was upon her countenance that had never 
before illumined it. I stood at her side. She 
clasped my hand tenderly, and bid me sit beside 
her, so that she could look into my face. 

I was regarded with an expression of unutter- 
able fondness, for a moment, and then she unclosed 
her wasted lips and spoke, — 

“ Anna, dear Anna ! I cannot talk much now. 
It is getting late. You will never know what your 
Christian love, your faithful prayers, have done 
for me, till you get up there I ” 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


231 


The eyes, filled with joy, were lifted heaven- 
wards, and the struggling soul gazed through them, 
past the celestial gates, flung open wide to admit 
an heir of glory ! 

“ Oh, happy place ! I shall soon be there ! Jesus 
and his angels! My heavenly home!” fell in 
rapturous exclamations from her tongue. So long 
and steadfast was the gaze, that I thought her eyes 
fixed in death. The young sister’s convulsive 
sobbings at length reached an ear vibrating doubt- 
less to the harmonies of the invisible world. The 
eyelids drooped, and the exhausted frame sank 
back into my arms. In reply to a suggestion from 
the backslidden sister, that a prayer be oflered 
for the dying, I responded with an emphasis that 
came from my very soul. 

“ No ; praise is more fitting for her ; she is going 
home to die no more! Pray for yourself^ that 
God would have mercy upon you, and bring you 
up to rejoin this glad victor over sin and death, in 
the morning of the resurrection ! ” 

The erring sister was in time to receive and im- 
part full forgiveness for the wrongs of the past — 
to be clasped feebly to a heart changed by the 
power of the Gospel of Christ from an abode of 
unkindness, malice, and hatred, into a fitting habi- 


232 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


tation for the Prince of Peace ! It was past — the 
conflict, but not the triumph. The seal of victory 
was stamped on the brow of peace — the smile of 
heavenly birth. My hands arrayed the lovely 
sleeper in fine, soft robes, spotless like herself, now 
washed in the Redeemer’s blood — filled the coffin 
with roses, white and blooming, sweet emblems 
of the hopes springing up from the ashes of a 
wasted life. I lingered long over the clay grown 
so beauteous within the shadows of immortality, 
whispering with a thrill of unspeakable joy, — 

“ At eventide it shall be light ! True and faith- 
ful are thy promises, O God of my praise ! ” 

Once again the “ human face divine ” that 
woke the missionary in my soul, beamed upon 
me. We had reached the burial spot. It had 
been a warm, bright afternoon, but the air seemed 
suddenly to have grown damp and chill. 

“ The sun has gone down,” I repeated sadly, as 
I moved towards the coffin. The lid had been 
raised, and the few mourners were gazing their 
last upon a sister that had sinned, repented, and 
been forgiven. 

I stood still, and bent my eyes reverently upon 
the sleeper. A radiance lit up the marble features 
with a supernal beauty — tinged the snowy petals 


THE IlEFORMED WOMAN. 


233 


of the rose-wreath with a crystal gleam — flooded 
the lowly bed with a pool of gold. The sun had 
glanced forth from its purple cloud-curtains, to 
hallow the resting place of the redeemed Magda- 
lene with a loving benediction. How often — when 
aching head and tired limbs have plead for a ces- 
sation of labor ; when noisome odors and the vile 
language of profanity have repelled my footsteps 
from the path of duty ; when the cold, unfeeling 
words of the hardened sinner approaching the deep 
flood, have chilled the fervency of my prayers — 
has that face, framed ’mid buds and blossoms of 
purity, sealed with the signet ring of a Prince, 
glorified by the beams of the dying day, flashed 
in upon my spirit vision! How weariness, fear, 
and discouragement would flee away before the 
memory of this precious earnest of a Father’s 
blessing upon my weak endeavors ! 

Five days from this burial scene, I was sum- 
moned to the bedside of the young sister, be- 
trayed and cast out to suffer the penalty of her 
weakness. A tiny babe was clasped to the poor 
girl’s bosom. She raised it to my arms, and, fixing 
her eyes upon me with a look too appealing ever 
to be forgotten, exclaimed, — 

“ Dear Mrs. Cooley, I haven’t a friend on God’s 
20 * 


234 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


earth ; will you promise to be a mother to this 
innocent little one if any thing should happen to 
me? I saw you at Eleanor’s, and hoped you 
would pity me.” 

The singular earnestness and solemnity of her 
manner impressed me deeply. I gave the required 
promise, and proceeded to exhort her to make her 
peace with God, assuring her it was the only 
means by which she would be prepared for the 
changing events of life, and the momentous scene 
of death. She listened to me in silence, and at 
the close of a prayer offered at her bedside, re- 
sponded softly, “Amen.” 

The frail, unhappy girl was soon able to sit up 
and move about the house. I visited her as often 
as more pressing duties in the chambers of the 
sick and dying would permit, but never succeeded 
in drawing her into religious conversation. She 
manifested no opposition to the exercises of devo- 
tion, and often wept when I spoke of the Lamb 
of God that taketh away the sins of the world, 
but I failed to discover any evidence of living faith 
in Jesus Christ. 

I went to see her one day, some four or five 
weeks from my first visit, in answer to a hasty 
message. The clinging arms that then encircled 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


235 


the helpless babe, were now folded across the 
silent breast ; the pleading eyes shut in a slumber 
that the last trump alone could waken ! The 
humane physician that I often met by the couch of 
the poor outcast, was standing beside the lounge 
on which she had fallen when smitten by the King 
of Terrors. Amazement was written on his face. 

“ This sudden parting of body and spirit is in- 
explicable. I saw her yesterday at the door, and 
she appeared as likely to live for years as any one 
present. I do not now perceive any marks of dis- 
ease about her.” 

“ O doctor,” I cried, weeping with a vain sor- 
row that I had not done more for the soul whose 
probation was sealed up forever. 

“ She died of a disease common to girls whom 
the world, and Christians also, are too apt to regard 
as wholly lost to human feelings, and hopelessly 
depraved — a broken heart ! ” 

The kind physician sighed, and rejoined, “ I 
don’t know but you are right, Mrs. Cooley ; she 
was the saddest patient I ever attended.” 

Upon an examination, it was discovered that 
a blood-vessel had been ruptured. The poor 
drunken woman, who had made a place in her 
wretched, filthy tenement, for the homeless child to 


236 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


lay her head, remarked that it had been a daily 
habit of the deceased to fall into violent fits of 
grief. Her death had immediately succeeded one 
of these paroxysms. 

The city carriage stood at the door of the 
miserable hovel. The pine coffin was brought out 
and tossed into it. 

“ Where are the mourners ? ” was uttered sar- 
castically by a loiterer near the sidewalk. 

The question smote me painfully. Must this 
poor, forsaken girl, once the fondled pet of a large 
family now broken up by death and dissensions, 
be carried to a grave unmoistened by a single tear? 

“ Stop ! ” I exclaimed earnestly to the driver. “ I 
will follow her.” 

It was a gala day ; carriages were in constant 
demand; one could be obtained for five dollars; 
but a single bill remained in my purse, and that 
bearing the lowest unit upon its face. I ran to a 
house where some cousins of my husband resided, 
explained the case in brief words, their hearts 
were touched with pity, and they emptied their 
purses into my hand. Five minutes later we were 
seated within the carriage, following the remains 
of the departed outcast towards East Boston. 

It was a bleak, desolate spot down by the 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


237 


sea-shore. Not a stone marked the resting-place 
of a single slumberer. I stooped down and 
gathered a handful of sand damp with the briny 
surf, drenched with my falling tears, and cast it 
upon the cofhn. I gazed down into the narrow 
house with feelings of indescribable sadness. Oh, 
thought I, could the hundreds of girls in our city, 
standing this moment at the open door of tempta- 
tion, but witness this scene, comprehend this single 
history, — not ended with the heaping of dust 
upon the unconscious breast, — how would they 
start in alarm at the sound of the flatterer’s tone, 
— fly from the seducer’s smile for their lives, so 
precious to father, mother, sister, friend, — their un- 
dying souls of a worth eternity’s years can alone 
unfold ! 


CHAPTER XXIL 


THE PATH OF PEACE. 

Two peaceful years of my new life had flown 
sweetly away. My modest little home was a 
spot blessed of heaven. The glad smile of my one 
precious child, the tender affection of a trusting 
husband, and, best of all, the loving presence of 
my Redeemer, hallowed it with a beauty and glory 
that princes might covet, but which the wealth of 
kingdoms could not purchase ! 

Was my soul satisfied ? Yes, for myself ; but I 
wanted all whom I loved, as well as those who 
loved me, to partake of my happiness and rejoice 
with me. My sisters and brothers ! — How thrilled 
my heart, how leaped my pulse at thoughts of 
the children of that blessed saint rejoicing in 
celestial bowers over the returned prodigal ! I 
forgave them all. No, I loved them now too well 
to feel that they had ever wronged or grieved me I 
The wondrous news of my redemption had 
reached their ears. I knew this, because a 

238 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


239 


gentleman from New York had been in the city, 
and sought out the residence of a lady who was 
acquainted with the particulars of my conversion, 
and inquired with the liveliest interest if it was 
indeed true that Anna Cooley was a reformed 
woman. No hint of relationship was breathed, 
nor word of explanation rendered, for the singular 
earnestness with which he pursued the object of 
his visit; but, from my friend’s description, I was 
confident that the stranger was none other than 
Mr. Wellman, the husband of my eldest sister 
Maria. It had been hard for me to restrain myself 
from writing or visiting my relatives, in all these 
blissful months, but I knew how good reason they 
had for distrusting my resolutions ; I wanted the 
test of years to bear with me into their presence. 

The hour in which I was to start on this 
long-anticipated visit was come. I stood at my 
door while Barnard assisted the driver in the dis- 
position of my baggage. The bright face of my 
boy, who was to accompany me, was raised to my 
smiling eyes, as he placed in my hand a daily 
paper just flung upon the steps by the carrier 
hurrying past in his morning round. The next 
instant the light-hearted child was glancing upon 
me through the window of the hack in waiting to 


240 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


convey us to the depot. I followed him, and, as I 
bade my husband a cheerful adieu, I could not help 
dwelling upon the contrast between my present 
joyous feelings, and the agonizing emotions with 
which I pronounced “good-by” when departing on 
a like journey that came so near bearing me to my 
final account. Numerous scenes of peril came 
floating across my memory, and I recognized 
more clearly than ever the hand of Providence re- 
peatedly stretched forth to deliver me from the 
jaws of death. It seemed to me as if that dying 
prayer had indeed entered the ear of the Al- 
mighty Father, and, for the sake of his promises, 
he had magnified his long-suffering and raised me 
up at last as a living example of the power of 
a Christian mother’s faith. My heart filled up 
with thankfulness, and my eyelids ran over with 
blissful tears. 

So sweet were my meditations that I did not 
once think of the morning paper I had crowded 
into my reticule, to beguile the long ride of a part 
of its tediousness, until half the journey was done. 

I now unfolded the still damp sheet, and held it 
listlessly before my face, giving half my attention 
to the lively chatterer at my side. Now a cluster 
of white cottages, a group of cattle feeding on a 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


241 


verdant slope, a brook glancing past like a mirror 
in the sunlight, drew exclamations of delight from 
the eager lips of the boy traveller. I replied in 
words and smiles that came from a breast but 
little less light and joyful than his own. 

It appeared strange to me this moment, as at 
some other times, and doubtless as it may seem to 
some of my readers, that the pure springs of glad- 
ness could gush up so freely from a heart burned to 
ashes by the unsanctified flames of lawless pas- 
sion. And then, for a ready solution of the mys- 
tery, I suffered my thoughts to wander back to the 
most precious scenes of my eventful history, — the 
floods of repentant tears ; the agonized entreaties 
for the creation of a clean heart ; the exercise of 
faith imparted by the Holy Spirit in the promises 
of the living and true God. And then the praises 
of Him who redeemed me and washed me white 
in his blood, welled up in my bosom, and I could 
scarcely restrain my lips from breaking forth into 
songs of triumph. 

Oh, I knew the blessedness of the necessity of 
being transformed into a little child before I was 
permitted to cross the threshold of Christ’s king- 
dom, as few, very few, can understand ! An out- 
cast knocking at the gate of the King of kings! 

21 


242 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


The vilest of the vile approaching the source of 
all purity! I was filled with awe and wonder, 
and yet I loved to linger upon the blessed moment 
when I fell at a Saviour’s feet, humbled and trust- 
ful, believing every word proceeding from the 
mouth of the Father, even to the asking and being 
made whole in the self-same hour. My soul had 
been feasting on angels’ food, and the trifling inci- 
dents and casualties of this fleeting life could not 
enchain my attention. 

I commenced folding up the newspaper, dropped 
unheedingly in my lap, when my gaze became 
riveted upon the printed capitals of a name, — the 
name of one who in bygone days had awakened 
my young heart to an earnest endeavor for a purer 
life ; inspired me with the hope of a brighter fate ; 
one for whose guilty favor, years later, I staked and 
lost a charming home, an indulgent husband, a 
cherub infant, and became a midnight vagabond of 
the street! 

There was a stillness among my heartstrings, as 
if suddenly grasped by a strong hand. The list 
of deaths swam before my eyes. Harry Lincoln 
was among the number recorded there ! 

I had never met him after that twilight parting 
in sight of that home my imagination had not pic- 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


243 


tured — desolate. I sank immediately, far, far below 
his level. I had been raised by miraculous power 
to sit in heavenly places with Christ Jesus. Harry 
was in eternity ! 

It was a shock, but my soul had learned its place 
of trust. I looked above. Many painful images 
before this recalling the past I would fain bury out 
of my sight, had appeared from time to time in my 
pathway, but my faithful Saviour was ever nigh 
to guide me by cheering whispers, — “ This is the 
way, walk ye in it ; ” — to comfort me by sweet 
promises, — “ My grace is sufficient for you.” 

There was a shadow upon my face and heart 
during the remainder of my journey ; but One like 
unto the Son of God was beside me, — One that 
had been touched with the feeling of human in- 
firmities ; and who among my readers does not 
know how much nearer and dearer seemeth a 
friend in the night-time of trial, than in the noon- 
day of bliss ? 

The bright autumnal day went down in the 
midst of gloomy clouds hurrying to andTro across 
the twilight sky, chilling winds sweeping through 
the dark, lonesome streets leading to my sister’s 
mansion, situated just beyond the rush and tur- 
r oil of the city, yet within sight of its lofty 


244 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


towers and heaven-pointing spires. Doubts of the 
loving reception my soul craved, began to haunt 
me. Was it reasonable to expect a cordial wel- 
come ? Had I not, in my warmth and eagerness, 
overlooked the barriers stretching betwixt my sister 
and me? — my early fall; her wounded pride; my 
subsequent life of shame ; her indignant rejection 
of the ties of kindred; my present condition 
among the poor and lowly ; her wealth and stand- 
ing in a high grade of society ; and, above all, — 
a thing which until this moment had hardly dis- 
turbed a heart yearning to feel the clasp of kin- 
dred arms, — my abjuration of a faith hallowed by 
the spotless life and Christian death of a mother — 
a faith of which my sister was still a firm, devoted 
adherent. 

Painful misgivings and foreboding fears op- 
pressed me as the hack neared the lofty pile of 
granite. I arose from my seat wearily and sadly, 
half carrying my little son, who had fallen asleep 
in my arms. I did not want any witnesses to a 
meeting almost dreaded under the influence of 
the freezing distrust that had gradually crept into 
my heart. Taking out my purse, I handed my 
fare to the driver before ascending the steps. He 
climbed upon the box and drove away. I stood for 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


245 


some minutes at the door, exposed to the fitful 
dashes of rain and piercing gusts of chilly wind, 
before I could gain courage to ring the bell. 

Immediately upon the faint summons, the door 
flew open. A little cherub of a girl flitted past 
the servant and exclaimed, — 

“ O mamma, I wanted you ! ” 

The sweet one watching for a mother’s return 
nearly threw herself into my arms before she dis- 
covered her mistake. Those steady, questioning 
eyes of clearest hazel fixed upon the strange face 
as she drew back proudly, not timidly — that com- 
manding brow from which flowed to her waist a 
mass of brown curls, assured me that Maria’s 
child stood before me. It was her second self. I 
only wished I could take to my heart this joyous 
greeting, mistaken though it was, as an emblem 
of the one to come. 

The servant led the way to a reception room, 
demanded my name, and disappeared. Five 
minutes, that seemed to my excited brain and 
fainting heart almost as many hours, expired be- 
fore the door was again unclosed, and a light, 
graceful figure swept into the room. I had not 
taken a seat, but stood with my boy’s hand clasped 
in mine, in the very spot where the servant left 
21 * 


246 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


me. I lifted my eyes meekly, expecting to behold 
the mother of the beauteous child. I had heard 
the sweet voice ringing out a second welcome. 
It was not Maria. The face before me was 
younger, rosier, and less firm in its contour. A 
second’s reflection convinced me that it was my 
sister Kate, that I had never met in the years of 
my degradation. I had never seen her since that 
never-to-be-obliterated day, in the early months of 
my fall, when, flying to my brothers for protection 
from the vile insults of a false guardian, I was 
smitten to the floor helpless by the unjust accusa- 
tions and unkind reproaches of my elder sister. 
The whole scene swept vividly past me as I 
gazed in silence upon the mildly beaming counte- 
nance. I remembered how tenderly my form was 
raised in Katy’s arms and placed upon a sofa, 
while her eyes rained upon my brow soft, pitiful 
tears. 

“ You wish to see Mrs. Wellman ? ” was uttered 
in an encouraging tone. 

I tried to speak, but the long-suppressed sobs 
were nearly suffocating me. 

“ I did not learn your name, from the imperfect 
pronunciation of the servant,” was added in a 
voice of gentlest sympathy. 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


247 


I dropped the hand of rny wondering boy, raised 
my drooping eyes and fixed them upon the radi- 
ant face shining upon me. Tears were flowing 
down my cheeks, and my accents were shivered 
by overpowered emotion. 

“ I am Anna, your long-lost sister!” 

A sudden flush supplanted the delicate tint of 
my sister’s complexion. It was interpreted by my 
trembling, doubting heart as pride, and, in convul- 
sive haste, I continued, in a supplicating manner, — 
“Jesus has found me and led me home. Wont 
you own me for his precious sake ? ” 

Kate opened her arms and made a single step 
toward me. The low flickerings of hope shot up 
into a strong, bright blaze. My tear-blinded eyes 
could distinguish nothing more. My face was 
bowed humbly upon my breast as I waited in a 
joy that held me enthralled for a sister’s loving 
embrace. I waited in vain. There came a silence 
growing momentarily more painful and startling. 
I lifted my head and looked in astonishment upon 
the terror-struck features and quivering form be- 
fore me. My eyes followed irresistibly her fixed 
gaze. 

Framed in the parlor door, still as a figure cut 
from marble, with a face as white and cold, stood 


248 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


the mistress of the mansion, my elder sister Maria. 
Those clear, unfaltering eyes, which had been the 
haunting terror of my ruined girlhood, the mocking 
shade pursuing me through after years of guilt and 
crime, were upon me. They fell on my face shorn 
of their former power. A strong shield protected 
my heart from their searching fire. In that mo- 
ment I became conscious of an invisible presence 
around me, sweeter than the love of kindred — a 
supporting arm beneath me beyond the strength 
of mortality. 

I waited now unmoved to hear my sister break 
forth into the fierce, reproachful language of other 
days — perhaps to issue an order for her servants 
to thrust me out of the house into the streets. 

The piercing brightness of the gaze faded, the 
form of stateliness swayed backward, and the door 
was seized with weak, trembling hands. The 
figure at my side sprang past me. The sinking 
frame was assisted to a sofa near the entrance, 
and the dizzy, overwrought brain pillowed upon a 
sister’s fond breast. It was the work of an in- 
stant. I remained motionless, silently regarding 
the agitated, distressed countenance of Kate, as she 
endeavored to win back the deserting life-blood to 
the colorless cheek, with strangely mingled feelings 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


249 


of doubt in human sympathy and trust in the 
mercy and goodness of God. A sigh broke forth 
from the white lips, a shiver passed through the 
prostrate form, and drooping eyelids were raised. 
Kate’s voice, that had so moved me on her first 
entrance, sounded forth again, low, distinct, and 
clear. 

“Anna, come here.” 

The soft, pleading glance was irresistible. I ap- 
proached the reclining form that I expected would 
soon rise up to spurn me. Kate took my hand 
tenderly, drew me towards her, and impressed a 
silent kiss upon my lips. Retaining me at her 
side with a firm clasp, she whispered in Maria’s 
ear, — 

“ My kind sister, try to command yourself ; you 
have heard of our Anna’s reform; you hardly 
dared believe it true. She stands before you, a 
living proof that she is no longer numbered among 
the lost. Will you not receive her ? ” 

“ Not for my sake,” I added with uncontrollable 
feeling ; “ I am too unworthy. I come to you in the 
name of Jesus, who has forgiven my sins, and suf- 
fered me to walk humbly and tearfully in the path 
of righteousness.” 


250 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


Two large, sparkling tears stole out from the 
half-closed eyes, and stood upon the cheek redden- 
ing with the glow of deep, strong emotion. 

Again, the calm, sweet voice murmured, — 

“ Maria, dear ! will you not welcome our Anna, 
and give God glory for her restoration ? ” 

There was a terrible struggle going on in the 
heaving breast. I knew how it must end. My 
heart was moved with tenderness and pity. 1 
longed to shorten the momentary conflict. Bend- 
ing lowly at her side I said, — 

“ Maria, I come to you now not in the wildness 
of my untrained, misguided girlhood — not with 
the heart of treachery, the lips of falsehood that won 
from you words of kindness afterwards regretted 
— not as the maddened, crushed victim of intem- 
perance and vice thirsting for revenge, but as an 
humble penitent snatched from the depths of crime 
and pollution by that same Christ whose imaged 
cross is now folded with trembling hand to your 
bosom — that same Jesus who stood by our mother 
in her last hour, and flung a halo of glory about 
the brow pillowed on the lap of Death.” 

The glittering cross was clasped more tightly to 
the throbbing breast ; other tears displaced the sol- 
itary drops that awakened my supplicating voice. 


THE REFOEMED WOMAN. 


251 


No response moved the firmly closed lips. I con- 
tinued sadly, — 

“ My sister, the God of heaven, against whom 
I have sinned more deeply than against all others, 
has forgiven me for his Son’s sake. Our mother is 
even now bending from the skies to witness the 
union of her long-severed children. Let her mem- 
ory plead in my behalf.” 

A quick, convulsive sob smote my ear; the 
hands, fiercely clenching the tumultuous bosom, 
suddenly unclasped and wound themselves about 
my neck. My face was brought close to the quiv- 
ering lips, and mingled tears and kisses were 
showered upon it. For a moment she held me 
thus, and then, with a solemnity that awed the 
glad voice of Katy into stillness, she prostrated 
herself before the Invisible One, and returned 
thanks for a sister’s salvation. 

The remainder of my visit was harmonious and 
beautiful. God had touched each heart with the 
finger of his love, and all was peace and union. 

Once, when we were conversing about our 
mother, a shadow flitted across Maria’s brow as 
she ventured a few words of lament that a soli- 
tary one of her children should have forsaken the 
true faith into which we were baptized in infancy. 


252 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


But when I replied, with a fervor I could not 
repress, that neither saint, angel, nor the spirit 
of my mother could accomplish what Jesus had 
done for me — that Jesus only was able to redeem 
one so vile — that Jesus only could ever be named 
in my prayers, she rejoined hastily, as if to prevent 
the slightest controversy, — 

“Well, well, never mind, Anna; I believe you 
are saved. I dare not question it when I remem- 
ber what you were, and behold you now. Protes- 
tants have done for you what we could not do.” 

“ Jesus Christ, you mean, Maria.” 

I said no more. I did not feel disposed to attack 
my sister’s peculiar views. The miracle of my 
salvation had come before her ; she had given the 
glory to my Father in heaven. I could only pray 
that he would lead her into the light. 

I did not meet my brothers during my brief visit 
to New York. One had sailed for California, the 
other was absent from the city on business. I 
could not protract my stay, now that my chief 
errand was accomplished, the reconciliation of my 
sisters. It was inexpressibly sweet to hear kin- 
dred tongues calling over my name in accents of 
welcome and endearment, but sweeter far to 
recognize a Saviour’s hand sweeping the chords of 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


253 


my soul until it sent forth a weeping, yearning 
response to his divine compassion for earth’s fallen 
ones. Joyfully at his bidding I broke from the 
detaining clasp of sisterly arms, hastened away 
from the palace of luxury, and sought my humble 
home, from whence I could go out to minister to 
my poor sisters, who, on finding themselves for- 
saken by their vile companions, and left to meet a 
fearful death without a friend, would sometimes 
send for me to pray by their bedsides, because they 
knew I had drank too deeply of their woes to feel 
any thing but pity for their hapless condition. 

22 


CHAPTER XXIIL 


THE BLACK SEA MISSION. 

It was a cool and delightful evening in Juiie, 
just one year ago. My quiet little room was 
lighted up with more than usual brilliancy. I sat 
between my husband and child in waiting silence. 
My heart was overflowing with the peace that 
passes all understanding. 

The door leading from the hall unclosed, and 
two welcome faces beamed into the apartment. 
Seats were taken in reverent stillness. Again and 
again the doors swung open to admit another and 
another, until the room was quite full. 

It was a solemn and impressive hour. Earnest 
prayers went up to God, from hearts beating in 
unison with the great soul of humanity groaning 
beneath its weight of sin and woe. Songs of 
praise were lifted to Him whose mission on earth 
was to “ bind up the broken-hearted, and set the 
captive free.” 

A Christian gathering for prayer in a Magda- 

254 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


255 


lene’s home ! This thought struck me with strange 
power, as I lingered in the hallowed spot long 
after all had retired. The wondrous goodness of 
God to one who had been sunk so low in degrada- 
tion and crime, humbled me in the very dust. It 
was no hour of triumph. To prostrate myself 
under the cross, to bathe a Saviour’s feet in my 
tears, was my soul’s highest desire. The hair of 
Mary Magdalene might be used for the sacred 
office of wiping those precious feet; mine was 
too impure ! 

The field of labor into which my sympathies 
and the Spirit of the Lord led me, had been 
opened more fully for my footsteps. An associa- 
tion of benevolent individuals, formed in the hope 
of illuminating the dark places of the city with 
the rays of Gospel light, had engaged me as a 
missionary to my fallen sisters in and about the 
wretched locality where were spent the last rem- 
nants of my criminal existence — Ann Street, 
since named North Street — sometimes called 
the “ Five Points of Boston,” and occasionally, 
to impart a coloring more in harmony with its 
character, designated “ The Black Sea.” 

I contemplated the path of duty before me with 
a feeling of gratitude and relief. I could now fol- 


256 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


low out the unutterable yearnings of a heart 
touched to the very quick by the wrongs and suf- 
ferings as well as the depravity and vice of this 
unfortunate class, without proving recreant to tke 
prior claims of home. 

One of my first steps was an effort to establish 
a weekly prayer meeting at my own house, where 
lost, sinful women could come freely and listen to 
the exhortations of the self-denying, devoted ones 
who were not ashamed to take up the Cross of 
Christ and follow him down among the poor and 
tempted of earth. The presence of the Friend of 
sinners at the first meeting encouraged persever- 
ance. The sounds of solemn supplication, the 
voices of warning entreaty and fervent thanksgiv- 
ing have been heard in this lowly room each suc- 
cessive Saturday evening for the past year. The 
rich and poor, learned and unlearned, virtuous and 
vicious, have met here together, and God, the 
Maker of them all, has manifested himself in 
strengthening the hearts of the righteous and con- 
verting the sinner from the error of his ways. 

During the three years that my feet had trodden 
the peaceful paths of righteousness, I had spent 
much time in visiting the abodes of the living lost, 
in the hope and endeavor of persuading some to 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


257 


forsake their vile companions and return to a Sav- 
iour that I strove to represent as waiting to receive 
them, and willing to wash away their guilt with 
all its polluting stains. 

The providences of God had led my footsteps 
chiefly among those who lived in elegant man- 
sions in the city, whose personal charms and win- 
ning graces were yet touched lightly by the mildew 
blasts of decay and ruin. The glittering smile, 
the flushed cheek, the mocking laugh, the proud 
step, could not delude me into the fallacious idea 
that the poor, tinselled butterflies of an hour were 
happy or content. I knew too well these gilded 
trappings covered hearts swelled almost to bursting 
with the unrevealed histories of betrayal, despair, 
and the seemingly last earthly resort of erring 
woman. 

They would often receive my little tracts with 
scornful smiles, turn careless ears to lessons of 
morality and virtue, while glances of suspicion and 
distrust were fixed upon me; listen with faces 
cold and unmoved as I endeavored, by delineating 
some of the awful death-bed scenes I had wit- 
nessed, to force upon their minds the conviction 
that, however flattered and caressed they might be 
during the fleeting day of their charms, the ap- 
22 * 


258 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


proaching night of disease and desertion would 
stretch them upon beds of rags, from which they 
must pass through paupers’ graves to the dreadful 
bar of God. 

Sometimes, in grief and despair lest 1 should 
utterly fail of impressing them with the pure 
motive of my visit, I would exclaim earnestly, 
while the unbidden tears gushed from my eyes, — 

“ Dear girls, do not reject the message I bear 
unto you! I know just how you feel, — how you 
doubt every manifestation of human kindness, — 
how you are sometimes tempted to believe that 
God has forsaken you, and consigned you over to 
the cruel mercies of wicked men. I was once like 
you, worse, worse perhaps than you may ever 
live to be ; but the blessed Jesus broke the fetters 
that bound my feet, led me up out of my bondage, 
and made me free ! He has sent me here to tell 
you that he pities you, loves you, will receive you, 
and make you heirs of eternal life, if you will but 
sin no more ! ” 

When my voice became lost in overwhelming 
emotion, and I yielded to the sobs that struggled 
up from my full heart, I was never found 
weeping alone ! Shielded by wine, hardened by 
scorn, debased by crime, these wretched women 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


259 


were powerless to resist the love of God, man- 
ifested through human sympathy. 

They would draw me aside in retired corners, 
and relate with streaming eyes the bitter wrongs 
that led them down to the shades of despair, and 
how, believing all hope of earthly salvation gone 
forever, they threw away with reckless haste the 
dimly understood faintly shadowed forth chance 
of an everlasting inheritance. And not unfre- 
quently, on the following evening, my humble roof 
became a temporary shelter for the fugitive escaped 
from the chains of iniquity, and bound for kin- 
dred, home, and Christ! 

The mission upon which I had now entered 
was governed by the same motives, and addressed 
to the same class of persons. The objects of my 
previous efforts had just stepped upon the inclined 
plane of vice, and were gliding smoothly along 
near the top, while those to whom I must now 
devote my energies were speeding downward 
toward the bottom with a velocity that threatened 
immediate and irretrievable destruction. There 
glittered the palace with its brilliant lights, full- 
length mirrors reflecting the radiant images of 
youth and beauty. Here smoked the den with 
its poison-reeking atmosphere — its shattered hulks 


2G0 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


of humanity — its fiendish yells, and heaven- 
blaspheming oaths. There shone the tempting 
threshold, with its garlands, viands, and luxuries. 
Here yawned the dark, subterranean passage 
through which the wretched blindfolded victims, 
bound hand and foot, were transported by no faint 
impersonations of the Devil and his angels, and 
thrust into outer darkness. The gnashing of teeth 
and wailing of despair floating up from the last 
desperate struggle, echoing through the cavernous 
depths, were not always wanting to perfect the 
terrible picture of utter, hopeless ruin — crowned 
with gems and flowers or loaded with chains of 
foulest, blackest infamy, ever the same, conscience- 
torturing, life-destroying, soul-damning vice ! 

The glowing beams of a noonday sun lighted 
my footsteps to the scene of my new labors. I 
paused and gazed from the opposite side of the 
street upon a row of gloomy entrances, lifting a 
voiceless prayer to God for protection and guidance. 
Though a half-crazed inmate of the North Street 
dance-halls three dreadful weeks, I never happened 
to stumble into one of these subterranean vaults 
of crime. 

The figure of a girl sitting in a filthy doorway 
bending over some sewing fixed my attention, and 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


261 


I crossed over and stood at her side. A rude 
stare, a defiant scowl, and the poor bruised, bat- 
tered creature crawled a few paces down the 
creaking, broken stairs. 

I now hastened to address the poor girl in a 
cheerful manner, and solicited permission to enter 
and rest myself in the shade. A grin, half idiotic, 
expanded her wide mouth ; a glance of shivering 
dread was directed towards a corner of the cellar 
invisible to my peering gaze. 

A hoarse, harsh voice reached me. “ Sartin, 
come in, if ye aint ’fraid of the likes of us.” 

I placed my feet carefully upon the crazy steps 
and descended slowly, but all my caution did not 
prevent me from sinking ankle-deep in the muddy 
waters of the overflowing tide. 

Coming suddenly from the broad glare of mid- 
day into this abode of darkness, that no beam of 
God’s sunlight ever visited, it was impossible to 
distinguish the planks of the same shade bridg- 
ing in various directions the briny, oozing flood. 

A gibbering laugh issued from the lips of the 
girl, while my unknown entertainer, whose face I 
had not yet beheld, began to rattle her glasses and 
urge me to take something warm to keep out the 
cold and damp. 


262 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


Declining the offered beverage, I seated myself 
upon one end of a wooden bench running around 
the cellar, from the low, noisome counter in the 
corner, to the high, narrow entrance. My eyes had 
become accustomed to the gloom, and, after reply- 
ing gently and kindly to the pressing courtesies of 
the mistress of the rum-hole, I glanced around this 
habitation of human beings with an amazement 
and horror I shall not attempt to describe. 

Rough-hewn stones formed the walls, unbroken 
by a single pane of glass, dripping forth masses of 
green, heavy slime. The ceiling was so completely 
festooned with cobwebs thick with dust that I 
could not decide upon the material. Two shelves 
occupied a conspicuous position above the little 
counter, over which were scattered, in disorderly 
proximity, decanters, glasses, broken dishes, bread, 
tobacco, snuff, herrings, pipes, combs, etc. 

All the light and air that could possibly be ad- 
mitted from without must come through the open 
door. The contents of the shelves, the old woman 
with her red, bloated face, the girl with her shat- 
tered frame, and the black filthy planks, were the 
only movable things in the dismal den. 

I maintained my seat in silence. No feasible 
way of approaching creatures so degraded in their 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


263 


appearance and habits was presented to my mind. 
Two men descended into the gloomy cellar ; one 
smart-looking and well-dressed waited at the foot 
of the steps while the other made an agreement 
with the half-drunken, debased woman to furnish 
her with rum at thirty cents a gallon. I learned 
from the confused mutterings of the wretched ven- 
der in manufactured liquors, that these visitors were 
a gentlemanly rumseller and his agent, making an 
extra effort to secure the custom of these miserable 
cellars. Because I could think of nothing else to 
say or do, I opened a pocket Bible and commenced 
reading aloud the fifty-seventh Psalm. I proceeded 
without interruption until I reached the close of 
the sixth verse, — 

“ They have prepared a net for my steps, my 
soul is bowed down ; they have digged a pit before 
me, into the midst whereof they are fallen them- 
selves.’^ 

A sharp, sudden cry prolonged into a fearful 
groan caused me to start in alarm. It seemed to 
pierce my ear from the wall behind me. I turned, 
and discovered a door standing ajar at the right 
hand of the counter, just as the besotted bar-keeper 
opened her mouth and breathed an imprecation 


2G4 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


upon the “ Critter that took sich a long time to die, 
she’d sure scare away all of her best custom.” 

“ Dying ! ” I repeated the word in consternation 
and dread. 

“ To be sure, anybody wud think ye’d never 
heerd of a body’s dyin’ by the way ye look.” 

“Will you let me see her? ” I pursued earnestly, 
giving no heed to the sentences now falling glibly 
from the woman’s lips. 

“ Yes, ma’am ; but you’ll be glad enough to git 
out agin.” 

I hesitated no longer, but gently swinging open 
the door, stepped within a narrow, cell-like apart- 
ment, dimly lighted by a single oil lamp. Three 
women were standing around a bed, in which a 
white, motionless figure sat upright, with both 
arms locked convulsively above her head. Her 
lips were moving, and again that thrilling moan 
of anguish burst forth. 

I drew near the bed and took hold of her hand. 
She shook off my gentle grasp, and turning her 
dying eyes upon my face with a reproachful glare, 
articulated between her clenched teeth — “ Why 
didn’t you come before ? ” I perceived that she 
was delirious, and replied in soothing tones. 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


265 


She listened a moment in evident impatience, 
and then broke in upon my words — “ Oh, let me 
alone ! I tell you it’s too late ; you’ve folded your 
hands and looked coldly on while I’ve been falling, 
step by step, until I’ve reached the bottom of the 
pit ; and now you come to mingle your mocking 
voice with the laughter of fiends rioting over their 
prey ! Oh, why, why didn’t you come before ? ” 

Again the piercing glance of reproach was upon 
me. Filled with unutterable horror, I sank on my 
knees and cried, — 

“ Let me pray for you. It is not too late for 
God to save you.” 

The agonized creature made an effort to drag 
herself away from me. Her eyes glared like a 
wild beast’s, and she shrieked, — 

“ Get out of my sight! You sha’n’t pray! I’ve 
got to meet him alone — an awful, avenging 
God!” 

The sound of my voice, the sight of my face, 
appeared so distressing to the dying sinner, that I 
withdrew from her side. There were a few more 
scorching, defiant words, a few more heavy groans, 
a long, dreadful pause, a quick bound of the 
white, emaciated figure, and the dark, frenzied 
spirit was gone ! 

23 


266 


THE HEFOIJMED WOMAN. 


I sought the faces hovering about the bed. One 
was old, frigid, and motionless, another pale with 
terror and affright, while the younger, belonging 
to a delicate, pretty girl, was flooded with tears. 

Again I approached and gazed on the bed. A 
picture now met my eyes that haunted me months 
after the dreadful event, — a child, less than one 
year old, lying in a peaceful sleep beside his dead 
mother! I expressed surprise that he had not 
waked during all this tumultuous scene. 

“ Laudanum stills crying babies; pity it wouldn’t 
still this one forever ! ” was the sullen response 
of the old hag, as she passed out through the door 
and eagerly seized a full glass of poisoned rum. 
The plash of water as hasty footsteps pressed 
the bending planks, was heard, a shadow ob- 
scuring the entrance perceived an instant, and 
this hardened specimen of an abandoned woman 
disappeared from the cellar. The bar-keeper had 
reached a condition that rendered her no very pry- 
ing listener, and I entered into a conversation with 
the trembling women standing beside me. They 
were communicative, and I was soon in possession 
of their histories. One, the elder, was from a 
country town in New Hampshire ; had come to 
the city for employment ; married a young, respect- 


THE REPOT?MED WOMAN. 


267 


able mechanic, and became the happy mother of 
three beautiful children. Her husband died, and 
she was left without a dollar. Her father-in-law 
offered her a home, on condition that she would 
give away her children. This proposal was re- 
jected firmly, and the poor, loving mother resolved 
to procure a cheap tenement and try to support her- 
self and little ones by means of her needle. One 
year of hardship, self-denial, and toil, that would 
have broken down the energies of any human 
body and soul inspired by a sentiment less strong, 
less enduring than a mother’s love, and the three 
little prattlers, one by one, in the brief space of a 
single week, were torn from her arms by a malig- 
nant disease. The wretched, heart-broken toiler 
could not even afford time to weep over the sweet 
faces that would never more be raised to hers in 
pleading for food when she had none to give, for 
her sensitive spirit could not brook the idea of her 
precious babes being tossed into paupers’ graves 
from the city cart. Stitching by the couch of fe- 
verish restlessness — stitching by the bed of death 
— stitching and watching when the city was 
wrapped in slumber, by the marble faces of her 
dead, the sad, worn mother succeeded in earning a 
grave for her darlings, and a hired hearse to bear 


268 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


them thither. Back to her desolate room, from 
which the last ray of brightness had faded, to her 
everlasting stitching ! Weeks came and went, 
bringing no relief, no day to the weary night ! A 
black-hearted wretch became struck with the pale, 
interesting face daily passing beneath his office 
window ; made himself acquainted with the des- 
perateness of the lone woman^s situation ; ap- 
peared before her in the form of an angel of light ; 
and the poor, doomed creature, starving on six cents^ 
worth of food per day, believing herself forgotten of 
God and humanity, fell ! The other, not quite 
sixteen, had lately arrived in the city from the 
Provinces ; been inveigled into the haunts of 
crime by an artful woman, a professional ensnarer 
of innocence, and, after a few weeks of floating 
about from one dance-hall to another, had fallen 
into the clutches of the drunken mistress of this 
den, who compelled her to sit at her door and act 
the part of a decoy. 

From the protracted conversation, I gained a 
few glimpses into the life of the woman whose 
dead face was gleaming up through the spectral 
gloom, with a ghastliness that produced involun- 
tary shudderings. 

The daughter of a clergyman in a neighboring 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


269 


state, driven from home by the unkindness of a 
mother-in-law; tempted into crime by a young 
man to whom she had been attached from child- 
hood ; deserted and in despair, selling herself to a 
libertine of immense wealth in New York. For 
a few years she occupied an elegant cottage, a few 
miles from this city, riding in her own carriage, 
and sporting a tiara of diamonds. To use her 
own language, she had gone down, step by step, 
until she reached the bottom of the pit, and sank 
from life and hope, hating earth and dreading the 
face of her God! 

When I emerged from this cesspool of vice, the 
two younger women were at my side. They ac- 
companied me home and remained contentedly 
until places were secured for them in Christian 
families, where they may be found to-day, blessing 
God for the North Street Mission. 

23 * 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


A PLEA FOR THE FALLEN. 

“ P'oR the oppression of the poor, for the sigh- 
ing of the needy, now will I arise, saith the*Lord. 
I will set him in safety from him that puffeth at 
him.’' 

From a desire to awaken a stronger interest in 
the objects of my mission, — a deeper pity for a 
class debarred by their own sins and public senti- 
ment from the society and influence of the virtu- 
ous, and to rekindle the expiring embers of hope 
in the hearts of the poor outcast, I have unfolded 
the sad pages of my life’s blackened history. For 
this, I have endeavored to reveal different phases 
of temptation, strip the gilding from palaces of 
mirth, and show you the tortured souls within ; — 
draw aside the curtain that hides the home made 
a scene of desolation by want of woman’s faith 
and man’s fidelity; — brush away the prison’s 
grated bars, and give you a view of a wretched 
convict, alone with a guilty conscience and a re- 

270 


« 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 271 

proving God; — unveil the progressive steps lead- 
ing down to the abyss of ruin. If my pictures 
from real life have not been drawn too faintly and 
shadowy, I may venture to say that we have 
gazed together upon the guileless, unsuspecting 
child; the tempted, falling girl; the reckless, aban- 
doned woman ; the vile, drunken prostitute, at last 
sinking into perdition with all her crimes upon her 
head. But what does it avail for me to recall 
these painful experiences, or for you to fill your 
breast with loathing and horror by listening to the 
rehearsal, unless we can discover or render more dis- 
tinct some way by which we may assist in check- 
ing the rapidly increasing immorality in our midst ? 
Let us pause a moment, and reason together 
calmly upon the matter. 

When a great evil or wrong is regarded with 
seriousness, it is natural for the human mind to 
wander back and strive to trace out the cause. 

Three hundred thousand women in a heaven- 
favored, gospel-flooded land, who have shut out 
from their souls every true and holy impulse, and 
are hurrying with a rapidity that distinguishes no 
other path of crime, down to the shades of eternal 
death ! Each year smiling on our increasing pros- 
perity as a nation, our growing intelligence and 


272 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


devotedness as Christians, sweeping thirty thou- 
sand of these fallen human beings into dishonored 
graves! What think you, — are these by nature 
greater sinners than all others ? Did the Almighty 
Ruler permit the enemy to scatter his tares more 
broadcast in their frail bosoms ? Did he withhold 
from them the sunshine of his love manifest in the 
tender affection of mothers ; the proud delight of 
fathers ; the blessedness of homes ? It would be 
impossible for me to take the affirmative of these 
questions, with the private histories of hundreds 
ringing through the chambers of my memory, — 
hundreds of erring girls, each one of whom was 
once the favorite and flower of the youthful band, 
the joy of the parental heart, the pride of the 
social circle. 

To satisfy, then, any one intimately acquainted 
with this unhappy class, some other starting point 
must be gained. 

Numerous little rills form the rolling river, and 
doubtless a variety of causes combined into a 
mighty influence, have swept these wretched life- 
voyagers into the whirlpool of ruin. By judging 
from my own experience and observation, and a 
fact familiar to you all, that a startling majority of 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


273 


these unhappy victims are born and bred in country 
homes, far away from the snares, intrigues, and 
pitfalls of crime, that can scarcely be hidden from 
the gaze of the youngest city school-girl, I ask, 
with all deference to the opinions of others, is 
not ignorance to be classed among the primal 
causes of this wide-spread devastation among the 
beautiful and innocent of our land? May we 
not trace the first false step back to the home fire- 
side, as the legitimate result of imperfect training? 
Are not virtuous, intelligent mothers, faithful in 
every other duty, singularly and blindly faulty in a 
thing so vital to the safety and happiness of their 
precious ones ? Do they not trust too implicitly 
to influences admitted as powerful, the unsullied 
blood flowing in their veins, the instinctive deli- 
cacy of womanhood, to protect those artless young 
bosoms from the touch of vice ? Do they truth- 
fully point out all the dangers to which they may 
be exposed ? Do they warn them in thrilling 
earnestness against the wiles of the destroyer ? 

Am I met with the oft-repeated objection that 
has sent many an enthusiastic moral reformer 
crest-fallen from the field — “I heartily approve of 
your efforts in behalf of those guilty ones, but 
could not think of admitting your works into my 


274 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


home, or embracing your views in regard to the 
training of daughters. I should fear that immoral 
and dangerous ideas might be suggested to the 
spotless minds of childhood, by a knowledge of 
these painful facts. I would not dare to speak to 
my little girl of these delicate subjects, lest the 
purity of her thoughts should be contaminated.” 

O watchful mother ! I know this argument em- 
anates from a soul of refinement and tenderness 
that would fain shield its dearest earthly treasure 
from the faintest breath of vice or wrong; but, 
placed as you are in a world of sin, exposed to the 
shafts of death that may in a moment rob your 
child of her faithful protector and consign her to 
the care of distant relatives or unheeding strangers, 
— is it sound ? Are you satisfied that you have 
reached a safe, wise conclusion ? Let us look at it. 
When you teach these pure lips to repeat the 
commandments, you dwell with an emphasis that 
can never be forgotten, upon the words, “ Thou 
shalt not steal,” but pass hurriedly over the seventh, 
and dare not explain its meaning or impress the 
young mind with the, fact that the bitterest woes 
of womanhood, the heaviest curses of God and 
nature follow its violations ; and yet, at the same 
time, you dare to entrust this fresh, new immortal 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


275 


to the care of a low-bred servant, who may, if 
she chooses, fill the curious little ears with tales 
teaching the lessons of falsehood and immorality, 
suffer the artless young miss to spend hours in the 
society of school companions whose earliest train- 
ing, for aught you know, may have been of the 
most doubtful character. 

Surrounded by the pure atmosphere of home, 
armed by your own spotless example, you dare not 
draw that priceless head to your bosom, its pillow 
in infancy, and with lips unstained by a word that 
could bring a blush to purity’s cheek, unfold to the 
reverent listener the laws that govern her being, the 
perils that beset the path of disobedience. But you 
dare to send this girl of a dozen summers away to 
a distant boarding school, where she will incur the 
risk of sharing a room with a mature, dangerous 
girl, who may poison those carefully guarded ears 
by corrupt communications. Depend upon it, 
your darling will not refuse to listen, for you have 
reared her in ignorance of those mysteries of 
nature and the world, and the young mind is ever 
open to instruction, be it good or evil. 

You dare to permit your daughter, in the blush 
of early womanhood, to spend evening after even- 
ing, until midnight, in mixed assemblies, walk 


276 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


and ride with persons of whose antecedents and 
characters you know comparatively nothing, or 
perchance receive the addresses of a gay, unprinci- 
pled man, whose wealth and position remove him 
from the meddling tongues of low scandal, but 
you dare not unveil to her guileless mind the va- 
ried arts of the seducer, and by strong, wise coun- 
sels, fortify her virtue against the probability of 
surprise or invasion. Thus you dare and dare 
not — and a mother ! 

O Consistency, hide thy jewelled crest in the 
dust ! Mothers of this beautiful land, by the death- 
less love that warms your bosoms, by the bare pos- 
sibility of the blush of shame mantling those sweet, 
transparent faces — the bars of a prison hiding 
those graceful figures from your eyes — the vaults 
of crime echoing the last despairing groans of 
those for whom you would even dare to die, I 
beseech you, awake to the sacred duties you owe 
your daughters, rid yourselves of false delicacy, 
and devote your energies to this long-neglected 
task ! Look upon the mother of a Spartan son at 
the altar of liberty — the Grecian woman with 
her infant boy on the Olympic fields of glory — 
the poor Hindoo bearing her babe to the shrine of 
her idol gods — and behold the result ! A hero 


THE REEORMEH WOMAX 


277 


disputing the advance-guard of tyranny, until his 
voice sinks in death ; a combatant crowned with 
the wreath of victory ; a devotee beneath the 
wheels -of Juggernaut ! Christian mothers, iearn 
a lesson from these examples, and consecrate your 
daughters to lives of purity from their cradle-beds ! 
What chains of tyranny, slavery, or death can be 
compared with the fetters of vice ? Those drink 
the life-blood, press the limbs, abridge freedom of 
speech and action ; — these bind the soul in burning 
thraldom throughout the ages of eternity 1 Fear 
not, praying mothers, to pollute the ears of your 
children by repeating the words of your God — 
fear rather to take away any part of his command- 
ments, lest he should take away your part from the 
book of life. 

I was deeply struck by the words of a girl with 
whom I boarded in this city some years ago. On 
making known the discovery of a pocket-book in 
her room, containing the sum of eight hundred 
dollars, she was advised to keep it, and deny all 
knowledge of the matter, when her intoxicated 
visitor should return to claim his property. 

My mother taught me never to steal ! ’’ The 
words were uttered with proud scorn, the fair brow 
24 


278 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


flushed with anger, and the fine figure drawn up 
to its fullest height. 

“ Pity she hadn’t taught you some other equally 
honorable lessons,” was the cutting retort of the 
baffled tempter. 

The poor girl fell prostrate upon the side of the 
bed near which she was standing, as if struck by 
a deadly blow, exclaiming, — 

“ O God! If she only had I would never, never 
have, been here.” 

Mothers who mourn over daughters lost to 
virtue must pardon me for speaking out my soul’s, 
conviction. It is not done to reproach or wound 
you, but to save others from the sorrows that have 
brought your gray hairs nigh unto the grave. I 
sincerely believe, if the fallen multitude infesting 
our cities, destroying our youth, and corrupting our 
moral atmosphere, had been instructed early and 
faithfully, warned in time, and counselled wisely, 
each one in possession of a sound mind would 
have been so impressed with the beauty and ma- 
jesty of virtue, its present and eternal value, that 
she would have regarded the first man, though he 
were an affianced lover, who dared to insult her 
womanhood by the breath of dishonor, as an un- 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


279 


mitigated scoundrel pressed into the service of the 
Prince of Darkness, and fled at once his contami- 
nating presence and the danger of temptation. 

And when, by some one of life’s countless 
vicissitudes, she was deprived of protectors and a 
home, and was compelled to go out into the cold 
world to gain a subsistence, she would have been 
wise enough to perceive and understand and avoid 
the snares set for the ignorant and unwary. And 
yet more : when by misfortune, sickness, failure of 
work, or, what is much more common, inadequate 
pay for womanly labor, she was brought down to 
want and suffering, she would have been strong 
enough to imitate the shining example of that 
noble little English girl of fifteen, whose affecting 
story appeared in the Nero York Post. 

Fatherless and alone in the city of New York, 
with the ocean rolling between her and home, 
wasting away by the slow pangs of starvation, 
sleeping on some straw at night in a wretched 
attic, passing a part of the weary day in a lower 
room of the tenement-house, taking carelessly an 
occasional bit of food from the hands of a poor 
woman who never suspected the ladylike, sickly 
looking girl was dying of hunger, — one day, 
while contemplating her dreadful condition, with 


280 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


a weak, despairing heart, a gentleman of pleasing 
manners and rich apparel entered and addressed 
her kindly ; said he had watched her going in and 
outj had thought she must be in misfortune; 
that he had so much admired her, loved her! — 
She answered, gasping with weakness, — 

“ Why do you come here to insult me ? " 

He hastily replied that he did not mean to insult 
her, that he truly loved her, and proceeded in 
various phrases to offer her a splendid home with 
him, but not as his wife ! The poor girl crouched 
down with her head in her hands for a moment in 
shamej and then started up, and with sobs and 
gasps exclaimed, — 

“ I know I am poor — I have nothing — I have 
no home and no friends — I am starving ; but if 
you should give me all the money in New York, 
and ten times more, I would not do this thing! 
Why do you come here to tempt me because I am 
poor ? ” 

The poor girl was so nearly famished that she 
almost fell down gasping for breath, but the man 
started back with a face ghastly pale, saying, — 

“ My God ! what a sin you have saved me 
from ! ” 

This scene did not pass unobserved by the 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


281 


watchful Eye above. On that very day some 
friends of humanity were sent to the aid of the 
heroic girl. Had there been no other way of suc- 
cor, God would have dispatched a convoy of ser- 
aphs from the skies to minister unto her, and 
rejoice in this glorious triumph of Virtue over 
Death and all his hosts ! Thus, by wise and faith- 
ful instruction, might the daughters of our land 
save themselves, and become the angels of this 
prison-house of woe, to break the fetters of vice 
that bind the souls of men. 

Dost think too much stress placed on the train- 
ing — too confident hopes entertained of the result? 
Turn to the words of eternal truth and wisdom : 
“ Train up a child in the way he should go, and 
when he is old he will not depart from it.” 

But we must turn from my sad contemplation 
of what might have been, and the hopeful antici- 
pation of what may be, to the palpable facts of the 
present. 

From New England cottages, sleeping beneath 
the shadows of Maine forests, clinging to the hill- 
sides of New Hampshire, nestling in the green 
mountain vales, from sunny Southland, Western 
prairie, and shores beyond the Atlantic, have come 

24 * 


282 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


to our cities a band of fair, innocent, young 
maidens. 

They came, artless, trustful, inexperienced, un- 
suspecting, and unwarned, seeking honest employ- 
ment, and pure, peaceful homes. A thousand 
snares woven by the powers of evil were already 
set for their feet, lying concealed at the various 
entrances, ports, steamboat-landings, and depots. 
Thousands of unwary hearts fluttered vainly in 
the meshes of the destroyer; tens of thousands 
more yielded to the slower but no less sure arts of 
wicked men, prosecuted under circumstances that 
would make the purest and strongest tremble I 

And now, with startling suddenness, we wake to 
the consciousness that these are the lost, guilty 
beings who boldly walk our streets in gaudy ap- 
parel, hiding their disappointed hopes, their broken 
hearts, beneath smiling faces that light the foot- 
steps of our youth to ruin’s brink, haunt our court- 
rooms and prisons with blackened eyes and cursing 
tongues, fill our houses of correction, float upon 
the underground swell of vice, and crowd to over- 
flowing our* Potter’s Fields! 

Who are their keepers to-day ? Mothers who 
slept while the enemy sowed, alike with those 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


283 


lying in the slumbers of the grave, are all power- 
less now. Brothers and sisters blush to recall dis- 
graceful memories. A deep gulf yawns this side 
of childhood homes. The name of this sinned 
against, sinning, deserted, miserable throng is 
“ Outcast.’’ 

Christian men and Christian women of crowded 
cities ! in your compassion, labor, and patience lies 
the hope of the outcast ; unto you do I make my 
appeal for a fallen sisterhood. By the sacred 
name you wear, — by your faith in the triumph of 
a Bedeemer’s kingdom, — by your hope of wear- 
ing a crown radiant with stars, — I implore you to 
look upon the multitude of living lost, and be piti- 
ful ^ — not too pitiful^ lest you strengthen the bands 
of wickedness ; but only just so pitiful as was the 
Son of God clothed in the habiliments of human 
suffering I 

Gaze upon him at the well of Samaria. Mark 
the peculiarity of his revelation of himself to the 
woman who claimed five husbands, and yet had 
no husband. 

When the Jewish High Priest, who had enjoyed 
all the light and privileges of those days, having 
prophets for his teachers, adjured our Saviour by 
the living God, to tell him whether he was the 


284 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


Christ, he quietly answered, “ Thou hast said.” 
And even when John the Baptist sent messengers, 
saying, “ Art thou he that should come, or look we 
for another?” he did not reply directly, but referred 
him to the miracles that had been wrought ; the 
fulfilment of the prophecy, “ Unto the poor the 
Gospel is preached,” — leaving him to reach the 
conclusion alone ; but to this ignorant, misguided, 
erring woman, he said, with touching tenderness 
and straightforward simplicity, — 

“ I that speak unto thee am he.” 

Followers of that compassionate One ! learn 
from this single incident of a Saviour’s mission on 
earth, the way of successful approach to these 
homeless, friendless, uncared-for ones. Think how 
some of them were cast motherless upon a cold 
world’s charity in childhood days ; have been 
tossed about by heedless strangers, until they were 
thrown into the society of those who addressed 
them in the language they had hitherto yearned 
vainly to hear — the language of love and tender- 
ness. Think how these trusting woman-hearts 
have clung around the objects of their mistaken 
idolatry, until they woke from their one dream of 
earthly bliss to find themselves betrayed and for- 
saken ! Reflect how many have sat in low, nar- 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


285 


row attic-chambers, within city wall, sewing night 
after night, cold and hungry, deserted by humanity 
and apparently forgotten of God, until the ener- 
gies of body and soul died out, and they fell, in 
their helplessness and woe, into the power of 
fiends in mortal shapes, standing at the door wait- 
ing for the last expiring throes of virtue in a 
starving woman’s breast ! 

Look upon them as they are — the wretched 
victims of imperfect training, misplaced trust, 
cruel circumstances, and the unhallowed passions 
of wicked men ! 

Reveal yourselves as the disciples of your Lord, 
in imitation of his example, in a clearer, tenderer, 
and more patient manner, than unto other sinners 
less bitterly wronged, less hardened by neglect, and 
less deeply clad in the garments of sin and woe. 

Oh, believe me, where you reach forth your 
hands they will grasp them, cling to you until you 
bear them up out of the midnight gloom into the 
light of day, and when you reach that shore laved 
by the river of God, where night and sorrow are 
remembered no more, these pearls of great price, 
rescued from the mire and filth of the street, puri- 
fied and polished by the hand of the Refiner, shall 
sparkle with unrivalled lustre in your diadems of 
glory forever and ever. 


2SG 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


Proud, unbelieving worldling, you who discern 
no image of your God in the brow soiled with 
sweat and dust, in the form covered with rags, who 
“ starve your Christ for lack of coarser bread,’’ 
unfold the book of Divine Art, look on your pic- 
ture, limned by the Great Painter, and blush! — 
a Pharisee sitting at meat with the Lord of Glory 
without recognizing him ! gazing with scorn and 
derision upon “ a woman in the city which was a 
sinner,” that washed the feet of his illustrious 
guest with her tears, and wiped them with the 
hairs of her head, saying in his heart, “ This man 
can be no prophet ; if he only knew as much as I 
do, he would know what manner of woman this is ; 
and if he were but one half as holy, he would 
spurn her with the feet covered with the kisses of 
her love ! ” 

Look again! — the same characters in another 
scene : — the Lord of Glory lowly bent, writing 
on the sand, your multiplied images standing by, 
and a sinning woman in the midst; gaze on the 
prisoner, and unless thou canst fold thine arms 
upon thy breast, like a conquerer whose valor has 
driven the last foe from the field of victory, and 
brave the searching eyes of God and angels, cast 
not the first stone at either one of the many thou- 


THE REFORMED WOMAN. 


287 


sands of helpless victims trampled in the dust, lift- 
ing their hands to humanity for aid, while at the 
same time you throw open your doors, spread the 
banquet, and array your daughters in bridal attire 
for the human blood-hounds that fell on your 
neighbor’s innocent flock, drove them forth into the 
barren moors, hunted them out beyond the reach 
of kindred arms and kindred sympathies, unpun- 
ished, unchecked by laws framed in your worldly 
wisdom, lest your God arise at the pleadings of 
^ oppression surging up from three hundred thou- 
sand bosoms in moans of unutterable agony, 
and hasten to their deliverance and your condem- 
nation ! 







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